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BITTER-SWEET. 



BITTEE-SVEET. 



A POEM. 



BT 



Jf'^Gr HOLLAND, 

AOTHOB OF " THB BAY PATH," " TITCOMB'S LKTTBB8," aiOL 



THIRTIETH EDITION. 



NEW YOEK: 
CHAELES SCRIBNER & CO., 124 GRAND ST 

1867. 






^A- 



v^ 



l.^ 



Entered, accordint, a ^ ct ol Coagress. i3 the year 1S68. b? 

CflAKLES SCRIBJJEE, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court ot the United States for th* 
Southern District of New York. 



Brown Uraveratt^ 

OCT 1 8 1932 



CONTENTS. 



-0- 



PAOl 



Picture, ^ 

Persons, . 14 

Prelude, 1^ 

FIRST MOVEMENT-COLLOQUIAL. 
The Question Stated and Argued, . , , . 25 

FIRST EPISODE, 
The Question Illustrated by Nature, .... 69 

SECOND MOVEMENT— NARRATIVE. 
The Question Illustrated by Experience, ... 89 

SECOND EPISODE, 
The Question Illustrated by Story, 157 

THIRD MOVEMENT— DRAMATIC. 
The Question Illustrated by the Denouement, . .183 
L'Envoy, .218 



P I C T U E E 



Winter's wild birthnight! In the fretful East 

The uneasy wind moans with its sense of cold, 

And sends its sighs through gloomy mountain gorge, 

Along the valley, up the whitening hill. 

To tease the sighing spirits of the pines, 

And waste in dismal woods their chilly life. 

The sky is dark, and on the huddled leaves — 

The restless, rustling leaves — siils down its sleet, 

Till the sharp crystals pin them to the earth. 

And they grow still beneath the rising storm. 

The roofless bullock hugs the sheltering stack. 

With cringing head and closely gathered feet, 

nd waits with dumb endurance for the mom. 

Deep in a gusty cavern of the barn 

1* 



10 BITTER-SWEET. 

The N^^tless calf stands blatant at his chain ; 
While the brute mother, pent within her stall, 
With the wild stress of instinct goes distraught, 
And frets her horns, and bellows through the night. 
The stream runs black ; and the far waterfall 
That sang so sweetly through the summer eves. 
And swelled and swayed to Zephyr's softest breath, 
Leaps with a sullen roar the dark al^yss, 
And howls its hoarse responses to the wind. 
The mill is still. The distant factory, 
That swarmed yestreen with many-iingered life, 
And bridged the river with a hundred bars 
Of molten light, is dark, and lifts its bulk 
With dim, uncertain angles, to the sky. 

****** 
Yet lower bows the storm. The leafless trees 
Lash their lithe limbs, and, with majestic ^oice. 
Call to each other through the deepening gloom ; 
And slender trunks that lean on burly boughs 
Shriek with the sharp abrasion; and the oak, 



BITTER-SWEET. 11 

Mellowed in fibre by unnumbered frosts, 
Yields to the shoulder of the Titan Blast, 
Forsakes its poise, and, with a booming crash, 
Sweeps a fierce passage to the smothered rocks, 
And lies a shattered ruin. 

* ****** 

Other scene: — 
Across the swale, half up the pine-capped hill. 
Stands the old farm-house with its clump of barns— 
The old red farm-house — dim and dun to-night. 
Save where the ruddy firelights from the hearth 
Flap their bright wings against the window panes, — 
A billowy swarm that beat their slender bars, 
Or seek the night to leave their track of flame 
Upon the sleet, or sit, with shifting feet 
And restless plumes, among the poplar boughs — 
The spectral poplars, standing at the gate. 

And now a man, erect, and tall, and strong, 

Wliose thin white hair, and cheeks of furrowed bronze, 



12 BITTER-SWEET. 

And ancient dress, betray the patriarch, 
Stands at the "window, listening to the storm 
And as the fire leaps Avith a wilder flame — 
Moved by the wind — it wraps and glorifies 
His stalwart frame, until it flares and glows 
Like the old prophets, in transfigured guise, 
That shape the sunset for cathedral aisles. 
And now it passes, and a sweeter shape 
Stands in its place. O blest maternity I 
Hushed on her bosom, in a light embrace. 
Her baby sleeps, wrapped in its long white robe ; 
And as the flame, with soft, auroral sweeps, 
Ulumiaates the pair, how like they seem, 
O Virgin Mother ! to thyself and thine ! 
Now Samuel comes with curls of burning gold 
To hearken to the voice of God without : 
"Speak, mighty One! Thy little servant hears!" 
And Miriam, maiden, from her household cares 
Comes to the window in her loosened robe, — 
Gomes with the blazing timbrels in her hand,— 



BITTER-SWEET. 13 

And, as the noise of winds and waters swells, 
It shapes the song of triumph to her lips : 
"The horse and he who rode are overthrown!" 
And now a man of noble port and brow, 
And aspect of benignant majesty. 
Assumes the vacant niche, while either side 
Press the fair forms of children, and I hear, 
''Suffer the little ones to come to me I" 



PERSOlSrS. 



Here dwells the good old farmer, Israel, 

In his ancestral home — a Puritan 

Who reads his Bible daily, loves his God, 

And lives serenely in the faith of Christ. 

For three score years and ten his life has run 

Through varied scenes of happiness and woe ; 

But, constant through the wide vicissitude. 

He has confessed the giver of his joys, 

And kissed the hand that took them ; and whene'er 

Bereavement has oppressed his soul with grief. 

Or sharp misfortune stung his heart with pain. 

He has bowed down in childlike faith, and said. 



BITTER-SWEET. lo 

"Thy will, O God — ^thy will be done, not mine'" 

His gentle wife, a dozen summers since. 

Passed from his faithful arms and went to heaven ; 

And her best gift— a maiden sweetly named— 

His daughter Ruth — orders the ancient house. 

And fills her mother's place beside the board, 

And cheers his life with songs and industry. 

But who are these who crowd the house to-night — 

A happy throng ? Wayfaring pilgrims, who, 

Grateful for shelter, charm the golden hours 

With the sweet jargon of a festival ? 

Who are these fathers? who these mothers? who 

These pleasant children, rude with health and joy ? 

It is the Puritan's Thanksgiving Eve ; 
And gathered home, from fresher homes aroimd, 
Thje old man's children keep the holiday- 
In dear New England, since the fathers slept— 
The sweetest holiday of all the year. 
John comes with Prudence and her little girls, 



16 • BITTER-SWEET. 

And Peter, matched with Patience, brings his boys — 

Fair boys and girls mth good old Scripture names — 

Joseph, Rebekah, Paul, and Samuel ; 

And Grace, young Ruth's companion in the house, 

Till wrested from her last Thanksgiving Day 

By the strong hand of Love, brings home her babe 

And the tall poet David, at whose side 

She went away. And seated in the midst, 

Mary, a foster-daughter of the house. 

Of alien blood — self-aliened many a year — 

Whose chastened face and melancholy- eyes 

Bring all the wondermg children to her knee, 

Weeps with the strange excess of happiness, 

And sighs with joy. 

What recks the driving storm 
Of such a scene as this ? And what reck these 
Of such a storm ? For every heavy gust 
That smites the windows with its cloud of sleet, 
And shakes the sashes with its ghostly hands. 



BITTER-SWEET. 17 

And rocks the mansion till the chimney's throat 
Through all its sooty caverns shrieks and howls, 
They give full bursts of careless merriment, 
Or songs that send it baffled on its way. 



PRELUDE. 



Doubt takes to wings on such a night as i\ii6 ; 
And while the traveller hugs his fluttering cloak^ 
And staggers o'er the weary waste alone, 
Beneath a pitiless heaven, they flap his face. 
And wheel above, or hunt his fainting soul, 
As, '^^'ith relentless greed, a vulture throng, 
With their lank shadows mock the glazing e}^es 
Of the last camel of the caravan. 
Aiid Faith takes forms and vnngs on such a night. 
WTiere love bums brightly at the household hearth, 
And from the altar of each peaceful heart 
Ascends the fragrant incense of its thanks, 
And every pulse with sympathetic throb 
Tells the true rhythm of trustfulest content, 



BITTER-SWEET. 19 

They flutter in and out, and touch to smiles 
The sleeping lips of infancy ; and fan 
The blush that lights the modest maiden's cheeks; 
And toss the locks of children at their play. 

Silence is vocal if we listen well ; 

And Life and Being sing in dullest ears 

From morn to night, from night to mom again, 

With fine articulations ; but when God 

Disturbs the soul with terror, or mspires 

With a great joy, the words of Doubt and Faith 

Sound quick and sharp like drops on forest leaves; 

And we look up to where the pleasant sky 

Kisses the thunder-caps, and drink the song. 

The day is quenched, and the sun is fled ; 

God has forgotten the world ! 
The moon is gone, and the stars are dead, 

God has forgotten the world I 



20 BITTER-SWEET. 

Evil has won in the horrid feud 

Of ages with The Throne ; 
Evil stands on the neck of Good, 

And rules the world alone. 

There is no good ; there is no God ; 

And Faith is a heartless cheat 
Who bares the back for the Devil's rod. 

And scatters thorns for the feet. 

What are prayers in the lips of death, 
Filling and chilling witli hail ? 

What are prayers but wasted breath 
Beaten back by the gale ? 

The day is quenched, and the sun is fled ; 

God has forgotten the world 1 
The moon is gone and the stars are dead ; 

God has forgotten the world I 



BITTER-SWEET. 21 



a %on% of JFattb. 

Day will return with a fresher boon ; 

God will remember the world ! 
Night will come with a newer moon ; 

God will remember the world I 

Evil is only the slave of Good ; 

Sorrow the servant of Joy ; 
And the soul is mad that refuses food 

Of the meanest in God's employ. 

The fountain of joy is fed by tears, 
And love is lit by the breath of sighs ; 

The deepest griefs and the wildest fears 
Have holiest ministries. 

Strong grows the oak in the sweeping storm 
Safely the flower sleeps under the snow ; 



2£ BITTER-SWEET. 

And the farmer's hearth is never warm 
Till the cold wind starts to blow. 

Day will return with a fresher boon j 
God will remember the world ! 

Night will come with a newer moon t 
God will remember the world I 



FiaO'X^ \10VEMENT 



rOi. OQUIiL. 



FIRST MOYEMEKT 



LOCALITY— 7%« Hqua/r6 room of a New England farm-house. 

PRESENT — ISEABL, head of the family ; John, Petee, David, PATrKjiaa. 
Prttdence, Gbaoe, Mary, Euth, and Childkbn. 



THE QUESTION STATED AND ARGUED. 

ISEAJEL. 

Ruth, touch the cradle Boys, you must be still I 

The baby cannot sleep in such a noise. 

Nay, Grace, stir not ; she'll soothe him soon enough, 

And tell him more sweet stuff in half an hour 

Than you can dream, in dreaming half a year 

2 



26 BITTER-SWEET. 

EUTH. 

[Kneeling and rocking the cradU 

What IS the little one thinking about ? 
Very wonderful things, no doubt. 
Unwritten history ! 
Unfathomed mystery ! 
Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks, 
And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks, 
As if his head were as full of kinks 
And curious riddles as any sphinx ! 
. Warped by colic, and wet by tears, 

Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears, 
Our little nephew will lose two years ; 
And he'U never know 
Where the summers go ; — 
He need not laugh, for he'll find it so ! 

Who can teU what a baby thinks ? 
Who can follow th^ gossamer links 



BITTEK-SWEET. 27 

Bv which the mannikin feels his way 
Out from the shore of the great unknown. 
Blind, and wailing, and alone, 

Into the light of day ? — 
Out from the shore of the unknown sea, 
Tossing in pitiful agony, — 
Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls. 
Specked with the barks of little souls — 
Barks that were launched on the other side. 
And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide I 

What does he think of his mother's eyes ? 
What does he think of his mother's hair ? 

What of the cradle-roof that flies 
Forward and backward through the air 'i 

What does he think of his motlier's breast — ■ 
Bare and beautiful, smooth and white, 
Seeking it ever with fresh delight — 

Cup of his life and couch of his rest ? 
What does he think when her quick embrace 
Presses his hand and buries his face 



28 BITTEE-SWEET. 

Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell 
With a tenderness she can never tell, 
Though she murmur the words 
Of all the birds- 
Words she has learned to murmur well ? 
Now he thinks he'll go to sleep ! 
I can see the shadow creep 
Over his eyes, in soft eclipse, 
Over his brow, and over his lips, 
Out to his little finger-tips ! 
Softly sinking, down he goes ! 
Down he goes ! Down he goes ! 

[Bising and carefully retreating to her seat 
See! He is hushed in sweet repos ! 

DAVID. 

[ Yawning. 
Behold a miracle ! Music transformed 
To morphine, and the drowsy god invoked 
By the poor prattle of a maiden's tongue ! 
A moment more, and we should all have gone 



BJCTTER-SWEET. 29 

Down into dreamland with the babe 1 Ah, weL ♦ 
There is no end of wonders. 

RUTH. 

None, indeed ! 
When lazy poets who have gorged themselves, 
And cannot keep awake, make the attempt 
To shiA the burden of their drowsiness, 
And charge a girl with what they owe to greed. 

DAVID. 

At your old tricks again ! No sleep induced 
By song of yours, or any other bird's, 
Can linger long when you begin to talk. 
Grace, box your sister's ears for me, and save 
The trouble of my rising. 

JRUTH. 

[Advancing and kneeling by the side of Graci 
Sister mine. 
Now give the proof of your obedience 



30 BITTER-SWEEJ. 

To your imperious lord ! Strike, if you dare ! 
I'll wake your baby if you lift your hand. 
Ha ! king ; ha ! poet ; who is master now — 
Baby or husband ? Pr'ythee, tell me that. 
Were I a man, — thank Heaven I am not ! — 
And had a wife who cared not for my will 
More than yom' wife for yours, I'd hang myself, 
Or wear an apron. See ! she kisses me ! 

DAVID. 

And answers to my will, though well she knows 
I'll spare to her so terrible a task, 
And take the awful burden on myself; 
Which I will do, in future, if she please 1 

RUTH. 

Now have you conquered ! Look ! I am your slave 
Denounce me, scourge me, anythmg but 
For life is sweet, and I alone am left 
To comfort an old man. 



BITTER-SWEET.. 31 



ISRAEL. 



. Ruth, that will do ! 
Ilemember I'm a Justice of the Peace, 
And bide no quarrels ; and if you and David 
Persist in strife, I'll j^lace you under bonds 
For good behavior, or condemn you both 
To solitary durance for the night. 

RUTH. 

Father, you fail to understand the case. 
And do me wrong. David has threatened* me 
With an assault that proves intent to kill ; 
And here's my sister Grace, his wedded wife, 
Who'll take her oath, that just a year ago 
He entered into bonds to keep the peace 
Toward me and womankind. 



DAVID. 



I'm quite asleep. 



82 BITTER-SWEET. 

ISEAEL. 

We'll all agi-ee, then, to pronounce it quits. 

RUTH. 

Till he awake again, of course. I trast 
I have sufficient gallantry to grant 
A nap between encounters, to a foe 
With odds against him. 

ISRAEL. 

Peace, my daughter, peace ! 
You've had your full revenge, and we have had 
Enough of laughter since the day began. 
We must not squander all these precious hours 
In jest and merriment ; for when the sun 
Shall rise to-morrow, we shaU separate, 
Not knowing we shall ever meet again. 
Meetings like this are rare this side of Heaven, 
And seem to me the best mementoes left 
Of Eden's hours. 



BIT TEE-SWEET. 33 

GRACE. 

Most certainly the best, 
And quite the rarest, but, unluckily, 
The weakest, as we know ; for sin and pain 
And evils multiform, that swarin the earth, 
And poison all our joys and all our hearts, 
Remind us most of Eden's forfeit bliss. 

DAVID, 

Forfeit through woman. 

GEACB. 

Forfeit through her power ; — 
A power not lost, as most men know, I think. 
Beyond the knowledge of their trustful wives. 

MARY. 

[Rising, and walking hurriedly to the window. 

»Tis a wild night without. 

2* 



b-i BITTER-SWEET. 

EUTH. 

And getting wild 
Within. Now Grace, I — all of us — protest 
Against a scene to-night. Look! You have dri\eD 
One to the window blushing, and your lord, 
With lowerujg brow, is making stern essay 
To stare the fire-dogs out of countenance. 
These honest brothers, with theii* honest wives. 
Grow glum and solemn, too, as if they feared 
At the next gust to see the windows burst, 
Or a riven poplar crashing through the roof. 
And think of me ! — a simple-hearted maid 
Who learned from Cowper only yesterday 
(Or a schoolmaster, with a handsome face, 
And a strange passion for the text), the fact. 
That wedded bliss alone survives the fall. 
I'm shocked ; I'm frightened ; and I'll never -wed 
Unless I — change my mind ! 



BITIER-SWEET. 35 

ISRAEL. 

And I consent. 

DAVID. 

And the schoolmaster with the handsome face 
Propose. 

RUTH. 

Your pardon, father, for the jest ! 
But I have never patience with the ills 
That make intrusion on my happy hours. 
I know the world is full of evil things, 
And shudder with the consciousness. I know 
That care has iron crowns for many brows; 
That Calvaries ai'e everywhere, whereon 
Virtue i^ crucified, and nails and spears 
Draw guiltless blood ; that sorrow sits and drinks 
At sweetest hearts, till all their life is dry ; 
That gentle spirits on the rack of pain 



36 BITTER-SWEET. 

GroT^ faint or fierce, and pray and curse by turns ; 

That Hell's temptations, clad in Heavenly guise 

And armed with might, lie evermore in wait 

Along life's path, giving assault to all — 

Fatal to most ; that Death stalks through the earth, 

Choosing his victims, sparing none at last; 

That in each shadow of a pleasant tree 

A grief sits sadly sobbing to its leaves ; 

And that beside each fearful soul there walks 

The dim, gaunt phantom of uncertamty, 

Bidding it look before, where none may see, 

And all must go ; but I forget it all — 

I thrust it fi'om me always when 1 may ; 

Else I should faint with fear, or drown myself 

In pity. God forgive me ! but I've thought 

A thousand times that if I had His power, 

Or He my love, we'd have a different world 

From this we live in. 



BITTEK-SWEET. 37 



ISRAEL. 

Those are sinful thoughts, 
My dangliter, and too surely indicate 
A wilful soul, unreconciled to God. 

EUTH. 

So you have told me often. You have said 
That God is just, and I have looked around . 
To seek the proof in human lot, in vain. 
The rain falls kindly on the just man's fields, 
But on the unjust man's more kindly still ; 
And I have never known the winter's blast. 
Or the quick lightning, or the pestilence, 
Make nice discriminations when let sHp 
From God's right hand. 

ISRAEL. 

'Tis a great mystery ; 
Yei God is just, and,— blessed be His name I 



38 BITTER- SWEET. 

Is loving too. I know tliat I am weak, 

Aud that the pathway of His Providence 

Is on the hills where I may never climb. 

Therefore my reason yields her hand to Faitli, 

And follows meekly where the angel leads. 

I see the rich man have his portion here, 

And Lazarus, in glorified repose, 

Sleep like a jewel on the breast of Faith 

In Heaven's broad light. I see that whom God loves 

He chastens sorely, but I ask not why. 

I only know that God is just and good : 

All else is mystery. Why evil lives 

Within His universe, I may not know. 

[ know it lives, and taints the vital air ; 

And that in ways inscrutable to me — 

Yet compromising not his soundless love 

And boundless power — it lives against His will. 



BITTER-SWEET. 39 

RUTH. 

I am not satisfied. If evil live 

Against God's will, evil is king of all, 

And they do well who worship Lucifer. 

I am not satisfied. My reason spurns 

Such prostitution to absurdities. 

I know that you are happy ; but I shrink 

From your blind faith with loathing and with fear. 

And feel that I must win it, if I win, 

With the surrender, not of will alone, 

But of the noblest faculty that God 

Has crowned me with. 

ISRAEL. 

O blind and stubborn child ! 
My fight, my joy, my burden and my grief! 
How would I lead you to the weUs of peace, 
And see you dip your fevered palms and drink ! 
Gladly to purcl^svse this would I lay down 



40 BITTER-SWEET. 

The precious remnant of my life, and sleep, 
Wrapped in the faith you spurn, till the archangel 
Sounds the last trump. But God's good will be done ! 
I leave you with Him. 

RUTH. 

^Father, talk not thus ! 
Oh, do not blame me ! I would do it all, 
If but to bless you with a single joy ; 
But I am helpless. 

ISRAEL. 

God will help you, Ruth. 

RUTH. 

To quench my reason ? Can I ask the boon ? 
My lips would blister with the blasphemy. 
I cannot take your faith ; and that is why 
I would forget that I am in a world 



BITTER-SWEET. 41 

WTiere evii lives, and why I guard my joys 
With such a jealous care. 

DAVID. 

There, Ruth, sit down ! 
Tis the old question, with the old reply. 
You fly along the path, with bleeding feet, 
Where many feet have flown and bled before ; 
And he who seeks to guide you to the goal. 
Has (let me say it, father,) stopped far short, 
And taken refuge at a wayside inn. 
Whose haunted halls and mazy passages 

Receive no light, save through the riddled roof. 

Pierced thick by pilgrim staves, that Faith may lie 

Upon its back, and only gaze on Heaven. 

I would not banish evil if I could ; 

Nor would I be so deep in love with joy 

As to seek for it in forgetfulnesa. 

Through faith or fear. 



J:2 BIT TEH-SWEET. 

EUTH. 

Teach me the better way, 
And every expiration from my lips 
Shall be a grateful blessing on your head; 
And in the coming world I'll seek the side 
Of no more gracious angel than the man 
Who gives me brotherhood by leading me 
Home with himself to heaven. 

ISRAEL. 

My son, 
Be careful of your words ! 'Tis no light thmg 
To take the guidance of a straying soul. 

DAVID. 

I mark the burden well, and love it, too. 
Because I love the girl and love her lord. 
And seek to vindicate His love to her 
And waken hers for Him. Be this my plea: 



BITTER-SWEET. 43 

God is almighty — all-benevolent; 
And naught exists save by His loving wilL 
Evil, or what we reckon such, exists, 
And not against His will; else the Supreme 
Is subject, and we have m place of God 
A phantom nothing, with a phantom name. 
Therefore I care not whether He ordain 
That evil live, or whether He permit ; 
Therefore I ask not why, in either case, 
As if He meant to curse me, but I ask 
What He would have this evil do for me? 
What is its mission? what its ministry? 
What golden fruit lies hidden in its husk? 
How shall it nurse my virtue, nerve my will, 
Chasten my passions, purify my love, 
And make me in some goodly sense like Him 
Who bore the cross of evil while He lived. 
Who hung and bled upon it when He died, 
And now, in glory, wears the \dctor's crown? 



44 * BITTER-SWEET. 

ISRAEL. 

[f evil, then, have privilege and part 

In the economy of holiness, 

Why came the Christ to save us from its power 

And bring us restoration of the bliss 

Lost in the lapse of Eden ? 

DAVID. 

And would you 
Or Ruth have restoration of that bliss, 
And welcome transplantation to the state 
Associate with it ? . 

BOTH. 

Would I? Would I not I 
Oh, I have dreamed of it a thousand times. 
Sleeping and waking, since the torch of thought 
Flashed into flame at Revelation's touch, 
And filled my spirit with its quenchless fire. 



BITTER-SWEET, 45 

Most envious dreams of innocence and joy- 
Have haunted me, — dreanis that were born in sin, 
Yet swathed in stainless snow. I've dreamed, and 

dreamed, 
Of wondrous trees, crowned with perennial green, 
Whose soft still shadows gleamed with golden lamps 
Of pensile fruitage, or were flushed with life 
Radiant and tuneful when broad flocks of birds 
S^rept in and out like sheets of Hving flame. 
I've dreamed of aisles tufted with velvet grass, 
And bordered with the strange intelligence 
Of myriad loving eyes among the flowers. 
That watched me with a curious, calm delight, 
As rows of wayside cherubim may watch 
A new soul, walking into Paradise. 
I've dreamed of sunsets when the sun supine 
Lay rocking on the ocean like a god. 
And threw his weary arms far up the sky, 
And with vermillion-tinted fingers toyed 
With the long tresses of the evening star. 



i6 BITTER-SWEET. 

I've dreamed of di-eams more beautiful than all- 
Dreams that were music, perfume, vision, bliss, — 
Blent and sublimed, till I have stood enwrapped 
In the quick essence of an atmosphere 
That made me tremble to unclose my eyes ' 
Lest I should look on God. And I have dreamed 
Of sinless men and maids, mated in heaven, 
Ere yet their souls had sought for beauteous forms 
To give them human sense and residence. 
Moving through all this realm of choice delights 
For ever and for aye ; with hands and -hearts 
Immaculate as light; without a thought 
Of evil, and ^vithout a name for fear. 
Oh, when I wake from happy dreams like these. 
To the old consciousness that I must die, 
To the old presence of a guilty heart, 
To the old fear that haunts me night and day, 
"Why should T not deplore the graceless fall 
That makes me what I am, and shuts me out 
Fi-om a condition and society 



BITTER-SWEET. 47 

As much above a sinful maiden's dreams 
As Eden blest surpasses Eden curst? 

DAVID. 

So you would be another Eve, and so — 
Fall with the first temptation, like herself! 
God seeks for virtue; you for innocence. 
You'll find it in the cradle — nowhere else — 
Save in your dreams, among the growm up babes 
That dwelt in Eden — powerless, pulpy souls 
That showed a dimple for each touch of sin. 
God seeks for virtue, and, that it may live, 
It must resist, and that which it resists 
Must live. Believe me, God has other thought 
Than restoration of our fallen race 
To its primeval innocence and bliss. 
K Jesus Christ — as we are taught — was slain 
From the foimdation of the world, it was 
Because our evil lived in essence then — 
Coeval with the great, mysterious fact. 



48 BITTER-SWEET. 

And He was slain that we might be transformed,— 

Not into Adam's sweet similitude — 

But the more glorious image of Himself, — 

A resolution of our destiny 

As high transcending Eden's life and lot 

As he surpasses Eden's fallen lord. 

KUTH. 

You're very bold, my brother, very bold. 
Did I not know you for an earnest man, 
When sacred themes -^ve you to utterance, 
I'd chide you for those most irreverent words 
Which make essential to the Christian scheme 
That which the scheme was made to kill, or cured. 

DAVID. 

Yet they do save some very awkward words, 
That limp, to make apology for God, 
And, while they justify Him, half confess 
The adverse verdict of appearances. 



BITTEE-SWEET. 49 

J am ashamed that in this Christian age 

Tho pious throng still hug the fallacy 

That this dear world of ours was not ordained 

The theatre of evil; for no law 

Declared of God from all eternity 

Can live a moment save by lease of pain. 

Law cannot live, e'en in God's inmost thought, 

Save by the side of evil. What were law 

But a weak jest without its penaltv ? 

Never a law was born that did not fly 

Forth from the bosom of Omnipotence 

Matched, wing-and-wing, with evil and with good, 

Avenger and rewarder — both of God. 

EUTH. 

I face your thought and give it audience; 

But I cannot embrace it till it come 

"With some of truth's credentials in its hands — 

The fruits of gracious ministries. 

3 



50 BITTEB-S WEET. 

DAVID. 

Does he 
Who, driven to labor by tlie tbreat'inng weeds, 
And forced to give bis acres light and air 
And traps for dew and reservoirs for rain, 
Till, in the smoky light of harvest time. 
The ragged husks reveal the golden corn. 
Ask truth's credentials of the weeds? Does he 
Who prunes the orchard boughs, or tills the field, 
Or fells the forests, or pursues their prey, 
ITntil the gnarly muscles of his Imibs 
And the free blood that thrills in all his veins 
13etray the health that toil alone secures. 
Ask truth's credentials at the. hand of toil ? 
Do you ask truth's credentials of the storm, 
Which, while we entertain communion here, 
Makes better music for our huddling hearts 
Than choirs of stars can sing in fairest nights? 
Yet weeds are evils — evils toil and storm. 



BITTER-SWEET. 51 

We may suspect the fair, smooth face of good ; 

But evil, that assails us undisguised, 

Bears evermore God's warrant in its hands. 

' ISRAEL. 

I fear these silver sophistries of yours. 

If my poor judgment gives them honest weight, 

Far less, than thirty will betray your Lord. 

You call that evil which is good, and good 

That which is evil. You apologize 

For that which God must hate, and justify 

The life and perpetuity of that 

Which sets itself against His holiness. 

And sends its discords through the universe 

DAVID. 

f sorrrow if I shock you, for I seek 
To comfort and inspire. I see around 
A silent company of doubtful souls ; 
But 1 may challenge any one of them 



62 BITTER-SWEET. 

To quote the meanest blessing of its life, 

And prove that evil did not make the gift, 

Or bear it from the giver to its hands. 

The great salvation wrought by Jesus Christ— 

That sank an Adam to reveal a God — 

Had never come, but at the call of sin. 

No risen Lord could eat the feast of love 

Here on the eartli, or yonder in the sky, 

Had He not lain within the sepulchre. 

'Tis not the lightly laden heart of man 

That loves the best the hand that blesses all ; 

But that which, groaning with its weight of sin, 

Meets with the mercy that forgiveth much. 

God never fails in an experiment, 

Nor tries experiment upon a race 

But to educe its highest style of life, 

And sublimate its issues. Thus to me 

Evil is not a mystery, but a means 

Selected fi*om the infinite resource 

To make the most of me. 



BITTER-S^VEET. 53 

RUTH. 

Thank God for light ! 
These truths are slowly dawning on my soul, 
And take position in the firmament 
That spans my thought, like stars that know their 

place. 
Dear Lord! what visions crowd before my eyes — 
Visions drawn forth from memory's mysteries 
By the sweet shining of these holy lights ! 
I see a girl, once lightest in the dance, 
x\nd maddest with the gayety of life, 
Grow pale and pulseless, wasting day by day. 
While death lies idly dreaming in her breast. 
Blighting her breath, and poisoning her blood. 
I see her frantic with a feai-ful thought 
That haunts and horrifies her shrinkmg soul. 
And bursts in sighs and sobs and feverish prayers; 
And now, at last, the awful struggle ends. 
A sweet smile sits upon her angel face, 



54 BITTER-SWEET. 

And peace, with downy bosom, nestles close 

Where her worn heart throbs faintly ; closer still 

As the death shadows gather ; closer still, 

As, on wliite wings, the outward-going soul 

Flies to a home it never would have sought, 

Had a great evil failed to point the way. 

I see a youth whom God has crowned with power 

And cursed with poverty. With bravest heart 

He struggles with his lot, through toilsome years, — 

Kept to his task by daily want of bread. 

And kept to virtue by his daily task, — 

Till, gaining manhood in the manly strife, — 

The fire that fills him smitten from a Unit — 

The strength that arras him wrested from a fiend — 

He stands, at last, a master of himself. 

And, in that grace, a master of his kind. 

DAVID. 

Familiar visions these, but ever full 
nf inspiration and significance. 



BITTER-SWEET. 55 

Now that your eyes are opened and you see, 
Your heart should take swift cognizance, and feel. 
How do these \dsions move you (^ 

RUTH. 

Like the hand 
Of a strong angel on my shoulder laid. 
Touching the secret of the spirit's wings. 
My heart grows brave. I'm ready now to work — - 
To work with God, and suffer with His Christ; 
Adopt His measures, and abide His means. 
If, m the law that spans the universe 
(The law its maker may not disobey), 
Virtue may only gi'ow from mnocence 
Through a great struggle with opposing ill ; 
If I must win my way to perfectnes^ 
In the sad path of suffering, like Him 
The over-flowing river of whose life 
Touches the flood-mark of humanity 
On the white pillars of the heavenly throne, 



56 BITTER-SWEET. 

Then welcome evil ! "Welcome sickness, toil, 
Sorrow and pain, the fear and fact of death I 

And welcome sin ? 

EUTH. 

Ah, David ! welcome sin ? 

DAVID. 

The fact of sin — so much ; — it must needs be 

Offences come ; if woe to him by whom, 

Then with good reason ; but the fact of sin 

Unlocked the door to highest destiny. 

That Christ might enter in and lead the way. 

God loves not sin,, nor I; but in the throng 

Of evils that assail us, there are none 

That yield their strength to Virtue's struggling arm 

With such munificent reward of power 

As great temptations. We may win by toil 



BITTER-SWEET. 57 

Endurance ; saintly fortitude by pain ; 

By sickness, patience ; faith and trust by fear'; 

But the great stimuhis that spurs to life, 

And crowds to generous development 

Each chastened power and passion of the soul, 

Is the temptation of the soul to sin, 

Ivesisted, and re-conquered, evermore. 

EUTH. 

I am content ; and now that I have caught 

Bright glimpses of the outlines of your scheme. 

As of a landscape, graded to the sky. 

And seen through trees wliile passmg, I desire 

No vision further till I make survey 

In some good time when I may come alone, 

And drink its beauty and its blessedness. 

I've been forgetful in my earnestness. 

And wearied every one with talk. These boys 

Are restive grown, or nodding in their chairs, 

And older heads are set, as if for sleep. 

3* 



58 BITTER-SWEET. 

I beg their pardon for my theft of tune, 
And will* offend no more. 

DAVID. 

E,uth, is it right 
To leave a brother in such plight^ as this^ 
Either to imitate your courtesy, 
Or by your act to be adjudged a boor ? 

RUTn. 

Heaven grant you never note a sin of mine 
Save of your own construction I 

ISHAEL. 

Let it pass! 
I see the spell of thoughtfulness is gone, 
Or going swiftly. I mil not complain; 
But ere these lads are fastened to their games, 
And thoughts arise discordant with our theme. 
Let us with gratitude approach the throne 



BITTER-SWEET. 59 

And worship God. I wish once more to lead 

Your hearts in prayer, and follow with ray own 

The leading of your song of thankfulness. 

Then will I lease and leave you for the night ^ 

To such divertisenient as suits the time, 

And meets your humor. 

[They all arise and the old man prays, 

EUTU. 

[After a pause. 
David, let us see 
Whether your memory prove as true as mine. 
Do you recall the promise made by you 
This night one year ago, — to write a hymn 
For this occasion ? 

DAVID. 

I recall, and keep. 
Here are the copies, written fairly out. 
Here, — father, Mary, Paith, and all the rest; 
Tliere's one for each. Now what shall be the tune? 



60 BITTER-SWEET. 

ISRAEL. 

The old One Hundredth — noblest tune of tunes ! 
Old tunes are precious to me as old paths 
In which I wandered when a happy boy. 
In truth, they are the old paths of my soul, 
Oft trod, well worn, familiar, up to God. 



[In width all unite to sing. 

For Summer's bloom and Autumn's blight, 
For bending wheat and blasted maize, 

For health and sickness, Lord of light. 
And Lord of darkness, hear our praise I 

We trace to Thee our joys and woes, — 
To Thee of causes still the cause, — 

We thank Thee that Thy hand bestows; 
We bless Thee that Thy love withdraws. 



B I T T E K - S W E E T . 61 

We bring no sorrows to Thy tlirond ; 

We come to Thee with no complaint • 
In Providence Thy will is done, 

And that is sacred to the saint. 

Here on this blest Thanksgiving Night ; 

We raise to Thee our grateful voice; 
For what Thou doest, Lord, is right; 

And thus believing, we rejoice. 

GRACE. 

A good old tune, indeed, and strongly sung ; 
But, in my mind, the man who wrote the hymn 
Had seemed more modest, had he paused awhile, 
Ere by a trick he furnished other tongues 
With words he only has the heart to sing. 

DAVTD. 

Oh, Grace! Dear Grace! 



K2 BITTER-SWEET. 

RUTH. 

You may well ciy ibr grace, 
it' that's the coni2)any you have to keep. 

GRACE. 

I thougiit you couvert to his sophistry. 
It makes no difference to him, you know, 
Whether I plague or please. 

RUTH. 

It does to you. 

TFRAEL. 

There, children ! No more bitter words like those I 

I do not understand them ; they awake 

A sad uneasiness within my heart. 

I found but Christian meaning in the hymn ; 

Aye, I could say amen to every line, 

As to the breathings of my own poor prayer. 

But let us talk no more. I'll to my bed. 

Good night, my children ! Happy thoughts be yourp 

Till sleep arrive — ^then happy, di-eams till dawn ! 



BITTER-SWEET. 63 

ALL. 

Father, good night ! 

[Israel retires. 

RUTU. 

There, little boys and girls— 
Off to the kitchen ! Now there's fun for you. 
Play blind-man's-buff until you break your heads ; 
And then sit down beside the roaring tire, 
And with wild stories scare yourselves tp death. 
We'll all be out there, by-and-by. Meanwhile, 
I'll try the cellar ; and if David, here, 
Will promise good behavior, he shall be 
My candle-bearer, basket-bearer, and — 
But no ! The pitcher I will bear myself. 
I'll never trust a pitcher to a man 
Under this house, and — seventy years of age. 

[The children rush out of the room wiUi a shout, which wahea 
the baby. 
That noisy little youngster on the floor 
Slept tlu'ough theology, but wakes with mirth — 



64 BITTER-SWEET. 

Precocious little creature ! He must go 

Up to his chamber. Come, Grace, take him off,— 

Basket and all. Mary will lend a hand, 

And keep you company until he sleeps. 

[Grace and Mary remove the cradle to the chamber, and David 
and Ruth retire to the cellar. 

JOHN. 

[Rising and yawning. 
Isn't she the strangest girl you. ever saw ? 

PEUDENCE. 

Queer, rather, I should say. Grace, now, is strange. 

I think she treats her husband shamefully. 

I can't imagine what possesses her, 

Thus to toss taunts at him with every word. 

If in his doctrines there be truth enough, 

He'll be a saint. 

PATIENCE. 

If he live long enough. 



BITTER-SWEET. 65 



JOHN. 



Well, now I tell you, such wild men as he, — 
Men who have crazy crotchets in their heads, — 
Can't make a woman happy. Don't you see ? 
He isn't settled. He has wandered off 
From the old landmarks, and has lost himself. 
I may judge wrongly ; but if truth were told 
There'd be excuse for Grace, I warrant ye. 
Grace is a right good girl, or was, before 
She married David. 

PATIENGE. 

Everybody says 
He makes provision for his family, 
Like a good husband. 

PETEB. 

We can hardly tell. 
When men get loose in their tlieology 
The screws are started up in everything. 



66 BITTER-SVVTEET. 

Of course, I don't apologize foi- Grace. 
I think slie miglit have done more prudently 
Than introduce her troubles here to night, 
But, after all, we do not know the cause 
That stirs her fretfulness. 

Well, let it go ! 
What does the evening's talk amount to ? Who 
Is wiser for the wisdom of the hour ? 
The good old paths are good enough for me. 
The fathers walked to heaven in them, and we, 
By following meekly whore they trod, may reach 
The home they found. There will be mysteries ; 
Let those who like, bother their heads with them, 
If Ruth and David seek to fathom all, 
I wish them patience in their bootless quest. 
For one, I'm glad the I'Z's'iy talk is done. 
And we, alone. 

PATIENCE. 

And I. 



BITTER-SWEET. 67 



JOHN. 



I, too. 

PBUDENCE. 

And I. 



FIRST EPISODE 

LOCALITY— 2%d Cellar Stairs and ths Cellar, 

PKESENT— David and Euth. 

O 



THE QUESTION ILLUSTRATED BY NATURE. 
RUTH. 

Look where you step, or you'll stumble I 
Care for your coat, or you'll crock it ! 

Down with your crown, man ! Be humble ! 
Put your head into your pocket, 
Else something or other will knock it. 

Don t hit that jar of cucumbers 



70 BITTER-SWEET. 

Standing on the broad stair ! 
Tliey have not waked from their slumbers 
Since they stood there. 

DAVID. 

Yet they have lived in a constant jar I 
What remarkable sleepers they are I 

EXJTH. 

Turn to the left — shun the wall — 
One step more — that is all ! 
Now we are safe on the ground 
I will show you around. 

Sixteen 43arrels of cider 
Ripening all in a row ! 
Open the vent-channels w^der ! 
See the froth, drifted like snow, 



BITTER-SWEET. 71 

Blown by the tempest below I 

Those delectable juices 

Flowed througli the sinuous sluices 

Of sw^eet springs under the orchard ; 

Climbed into fountains tliat chained them ; 

Dripped into cups that retained them, 

And swelled till they dropped, and we gained them. 

Then they were gathered and tortured 

By passage from hopjier to vat, 

And fell — every apple crushed flat. 

Ah ! how the bees gathered round them, 

And how delicious they found them ! 

Oat-straw, as fragrant as clover. 

Was platted, and smoothly turned over. 

Weaving a neatly-ribbed basket ; 

And, as tliey built up the casket. 

In went the pulp by the scoop-full, 

Till the juice flowed by the stoup-full, — 

Filling the half of a puncheon 

VYbile the men swallowed their luncheon. 



72 B'lTTER -SWEET. 

Pure grew the stream with the strea* 

Of the lever and screw, 
mi the last drops from the pres8 

Were as bright as the dew. 
There were these juices spilled ; 
There were these barrels filled ; 
Sixteen barrels of cider — 
Ripening all in a row ! 
Open the vent-channels wider I 
See the froth, drifted like snow, 
Blown by the tempest below I 

DAVID. 

Hearts, like apples, are hard and sour, 
Till crushed by Pain's resistless power ; 
And yield their juices rich and bland 
To none but Sorrow's heavy hand. 
Tlie purest streams of human love 
Flow naturally never, 



HITTER-SWEET. ^-3 



But guslj by pressure from above, 
With God's hand on the lever. 
The first are turbidest and meanest ; 
The last are sweetest and serenest, 

RUTH. 

Sermon quite short for the text ! 
What shall we hit upon next ? 
Lift up the lid of that cask ; 

See if the brine be abundant ; 
Easy for me were the task 

To make it redundant 
With tears for my beautiful Zephyr- 
Pet of the pasture and stall- 
Whitest and comeliest heifer, 
Gentlest of all ! 

Oh, it seemed cruel to slay her I 
But they insulted my prayer 

For her careless and innocent life, 
4 



7i BITTER-SWEET. 

And the creature was brought to the knife 
With gratitude in her eye ; 
For they patted her back, and chafed her head, 
And coaxed her with softest words, as they led 

Her up to the ring to die. 
Do you blame me for crying 
When my Zephyr was dying ? 
I shut my room and my ears, 
And opened my heart and my tears, 
And wept for the half of a day ; 

And I could not go 

To the rooms below 
Till the butcher went away. 

DAVID. 

Life evermore is fed by death, 

In earth and sea and sky; 
And, that a rose may breathe its breatn, 
Something must die. 



BITTER - SWEET. 

Earth is a sepulchre of flowers, 

Whose vitalizmg mould 
Through boundless transmutation towers, 
In green and gold. 

The oak tree, struggling mth the blast, 

Devours its father tree, 
And sheds its leaves and drops its mast, 
That more may be. 

The falcon preys upon the finch, 

The finch uj^on the fly 
And nought will loose the hunger-pinch 
But death's wild cry. 

Tlie milk-haired heifer's life must pass 

That it may fill your own. 
As passed the sweet life of the grass 
She fed upon. 



76 BITTER-SWEET. 

The power enslaved by yonder cask 

Shall many burdens bear; 
Shall nerve the toiler at his task. 
The soul at prayer. 

From lowly woe springs lordly joy; 

From humbler good diviner; 
The greater life must aye destroy 
And drink the minor. 

From hand to hand life's cup is passed 

Up Being's piled gi*adation, 
Till men to angels yield at last 
The rich collation. 

RUTH. 

Well, we are done with the brute; 
Now let us look at the fruit, — 
. Every barrel, I'm told, 
From grafts half a dozen years old. 



BITTER-SWE ET. 
That is a barrel of russets: 



But we can hardly discuss its 

Sj^heres of frost and flint, 
Till, smitten by thoughts of Spring, 
And the old tree blossoming, 
Their bronze takes a yellower tint, 
And the pulp grows mellower in't. 
But oh! when they're sick with the savors 

Of sweets that they dream o^ 
Sure, all the toothsomest flavors 

They hold the cream of! 
You will be begging in May, 
In your irresistible way, 
For a peck of the apples in gray. 

Those are the pearmains, I think, — 
Bland and insipid as eggs; 
They were too lazy to drink 

The light to its dregs, 
And left .them upon the rind — 



78 BITTER-SWEET. 

A delicate film of blue — 
Leave them alone; — I can find 
Better apples for you. 

Those are the Rhode Island greenings; 
Excellent apples for pies; 
There are no mystical meanings 
In fruit of that col >r and size. 
They are too coarse and too juiceful; 
They are too large and too useful. 

There are tlie Baldwins and Flyers, 
Wrapped hi their beautiful fires! 
Color forks up fi-om their stems 

As if painted by Flora, 
Or as out from the pole stream the flames 

Of the Northern Aurora. 

Here shall our quest have a close; 
Fill up your basket with those; 



BITTER-SWEET. 79 



Bite tiirough their vesture ol flame, 

Aiid then you will gather 
All that is meant by the name, 

« Seek-no-farther !" 

DAVID. 

The native orchard's fau-est trees, 

Wild springing on the hill, 
Bear no such precious fruits as these, 
And never will; 

Till axe and saw and pruning knife 

Cut from them every bough, 
And they receive a gentler Ufe 

Than crowns them now. 

And Nature's children, evermore. 

Though grown to stately stature, 
Must bear the fruit their fathers bore- 
The fruit of nature ; 



80 BITTER-SWEET. 

Till eiery thrifty vice is made 

The shoulder for a cion, 
Cut from the bending trees that shade 
The hiUs of Zion. 

Sorrow must crop each passion-shoot, 

And pain each lust infernal, 
Or human life can bear no fruit 
To life eternal. 

For angels wait on Providence; 

And mark the sundered places, 
To graft with gentlest instruments 
The heavenly graces. 

KUTH, 

Well, you*re a curious creature!^ 
Yon should have been a preacher. 
But look at that bin of potatoes — 



BITTER-SWEET. 61 



Grown in all singular shapes — 
Red and in clusters, like grapes, 

Or more like tomatoes. 
Those are Merinoes, I guess; 

Very prolific and ch.eap ; 
They make an excellent mess 

For a cow, or a sheep. 
And are good for the table, they say, 
When the winter has passed away. 

Those are my beautiful Carters; 
.Every one doomed to be martyrs 

To the eccentric desire 
Of Christian people to skin them,— • 

Brought to the trial of fire 
For the good that is in them I 
Ivory tubers — divide one ! 

Ivory all the way through ! 

Never a hollow inside one; 

Neyer a core, black or blue ! 
4* 



82 BITTER-SWEET. 

Ah, you should taste them when roasted ! 

(Chestnuts are not half so good;) 
And you would find that I've boasted 

Less than I should. 
They make the meal for Sunday noon ; 

And, if ever you eat one, let me beg 

You to manage it just as you do an egg. 
Take a pat of butter, a silver spoon, 
And wrap your napkin round the shell:. 
Have you seen a humming-bird probe the beU 
Of a white-lipped morning-glory? 
Well, that's the rest of the story ! 
But. it's very singular, surely. 
They should produce so poorly. 
Father knows that I want them. 
So he continues to plant them ; 
But, if I try to argue the question. 

He scoffs, as a thrifty farmer will ; 
And puts me down with the stale suggestion — 

"Small potatoes, and few in a hill." 



BITTEK-SWEET.^ 88 

DAVID. 

Thus is it over all the earth! 

That which we call the fairest, 
And prize for its surpassing worth, 
Is always rarest. 

Iron is heaped in mountain piles. 
And gluts the laggard forges ; 
But goM-flakes gleam in dim defiles 
And lonely gorges. 

The snowy marble flecks the land 

With heaped and rounded ledges, 
But diamonds hide within the sand 
Their starry edges. 

The finny armies clog the twine 

That sweeps the lazy river, 
But pearls come singly from the brhie, 
With the pale diver. 



^ BITTER-SWEET. 

God gives no value unto men 

Unmatched by meed of labor; 
And Cost of Worth has ever been 
The closest neighbor. 

Wide is the gate and broad the way 

That open to perdition, 
And countless multitudes are they 
Who seek admission. 

But strait the gate, the path unkind, 

That lead to life immortal. 
And few the careful feet that find 
The hidden portal. 

AU common good has common price; 

Exceeding good, exceeding; 
Christ bought* the keys of Paradise 
By cruel bleeding; 

And every soul that wins a place 
Upon its hills of pleasure. 



BITTER SWEET. 86 

Must give its all, and beg for grace 
To fill the measure. 

Were every hill a precious mine, 
And golden aU the mountains; 
Were all the rivers fed with wine 
By tireless fountains ; 

Life would be ravished of its zest, 

And shorn of its ambition, 
And sink into the dreamless rest 
Of inanition. 

Up the broad stairs that Value rears 
Stand motives beck'ning earthward 
To summon men to nobler spheres. 

And lead them worthward. 

EUTH. 

I'm afraid to show you anything more; 
For parsnips and art are so very long, 



86 B I T T E K - S W E E T . 

That the passage back to the cellar-door 

Would be through a mile of song. 
But Truth owns me for an honest teller; 

And, if the honest truth be told, 
1 am indebted to you and the cellar 

For a lesson and a cold. 
And one or the other cheats my sight; 

(O silly girl 1 for shame !) 
Bai-rels are hoo}3ed with rings of light. 

And stopped with tongues of flame. 
Apples have conquered original sin, 

Manna is pickled in brine, 
Philosophy fills the potato bin, 

And cider will soon be wme. 
So crown the basket with mellow fruit, 

And brim the pitcher with pearls; 
And we'll see how the old-time dainties suit 

The old-time boys and girls. 

[They ascend the stain 



SECOND MOYEMENT 



^'ARRAT1YE. 



SECOND MOVEMENT. 



LOCALITT-ul OJtamber. 
PJttESENT— Geaoe, Mart, and the Baby. 



I'HE QUESTION ILLUSTKATED BY EXPEEIENCE. 

GBACE. 

[Sings. 

Hither, Sleep ! A mother wants thee ! • 

Come with velvet arms! 
Fold the baby that she grants thee 

To thy own soft charms! 

Bear him into Dreamland lightly I 
. Give him* sight of flowers 1 



90 BITTER-SWEET. 

Do not bring him back till brightly 
Break the mornmg hours! 

Close his eyes with gentle fingers! 

Cross his hands of snow I 
Tell the angels where he lingers 

They must whisper low! 

I will guard thy spell unbroken 

If thou hear my call ; 
Come then, Sleep! I wait the token 

Of thy downy thrall. 

Now I see his sweet lips moving; 

He is in thy keep; 
Other milk the babe is proving 

At the breabt of sleep ! 

MAEY. 

Sleep, babe, the honeyed sleep of innocence ! 
Sleep like a bud ; f 3r soon tlfc sun of life 



BITTEK-SWEET. 91 

With ardors quick and passionate shall rise, 

And, with hot kisses, part the fragrant lips— 

The folded petals of thy soul ! Alas ! 

What feverish winds shall tease and toss thee, then! 

What pride and pain, ambition and despair, 

Desire, satiety, and all that fill 

With misery life's fretful enterprise, 

Shall wrench and blanch thee, tiU thou fall at last, 

Joy after joy down fluttering to the earth. 

To be apportioned to the elements! 

I marvel, baby, whether it were ill 

That he who planted thee should pluck thee now, 

And save thee from the blight that comes on all, 

I marvel whether it would not be well 

That the frail bud should burst in Paradise, 

On the full throbbing of an angel's heart I 

GRACE 

Oh, speak not thus! The thought is terrible. 
He is my all ;* and yet, it sickens me 



92 BITTER-SWEET. 

To think that he will gi-ow to be a man. 
II" he were not a boy ! 

MARY. 

Were not a boy? 
That wakens other thoughts. Thank God for that I 
To be a man, if aught, is privilege 
Precious and peerless. While I bide content 
The modest lot of woman, all my soul 
Gives truest manhood humblest reverence. 
It is a great and god-like thing to do I 
»Tis a great thing, I think, to be a man. 
Man fells the forests, ploughs and tills the fields, 
And heaps the granaries that feed the world. 
At his behest swift Commerce spreads her wings, 
And tires the sinewy sea-birds as she flies, 
Fannin or the solitudes from chme to clime. 

o 

Smoke-crested cities rise beneath his hand, 
And roar through ages with the din of trade. 
Steam is the fleet-winged herald of his will, 



BITTER-SWEET. 93 

Joining the angel of the Apocalypse 

Mid sound and smoke and wond'rous circumstance, 

And with one foot upon the conquered sea 

And one upon the subject land, proclaims 

That space shall be no more. The lightnings veil 

Their fiery forms to wait upon his thought, 

And give it wing, as unseen spirits pause 

To bear to God the burden of his prayer. 

God crowns him with the gift of eloquence, 

And puts a harp into his tuneful hands, 

And makes him both his prophet and his priest. 

*Twas in his form the great Immanuel 

Revealed himself; the Apostolic Twelve, 

Like those who since have ministered the Word. 

Were men. 'Tis a great thing to be a man. 

GBACE. 

And fortunate to have an advocate 
Across whose memory convenient clouds 
Come floating at convenient intei'vals. 



94 BITTER-SWEET. 

Tlie harvest fields that man has honored most 

Are those where human life is reaped like grain. 

There never rose a mart, nor shone a sail, 

Nor sprang a great invention into birth, 

By other motive than man's love of gold. 

It is for wrong that he is eloquent ; 

For lust that he indites his sweetest songs. 

Christ was betrayed by treason of a man, 

And scourged and hung upon a tree by men ; 

And the sad women who were at his cross, 

And sought him early at the sepulchre. 

And since that day, in gentle multitudes 

Have loved and follovred him, have been man's 

slaves, — 
The victims of his power and his desire. 

MARY. 

And you, a wedded wife — well wedded, too. 
Can say all this, and say it bitterly I 



BITTER-SWEET. 95 



GRACE, 



i'orhaps because a wife; perhaps beoauFe — 

MARY. 

Hush, Grace ! Ko more ! I beg you, say no more. 

Xay ! 1 will leave you at another word ; 

For I could listen to a blasphemy, 

Falling from bestial lips, with lighter chill 

Than to the mad complainings of a soul 

Which God has favored as he favors few. 

I dare not listen when a woman's voice. 

Which blessings strive to smother, flings them off 

In mad contemi^t. I dare not hear the words 

Whose utterance all the gentle loves dissuade 

By kisses which are reasons, while a throng 

Of fiiendships, comforts, and sweet charities — 

Tlie almoners of the All-Bountiful — 

With folded wings stand sadly looking on. 

Believe me, Grace, the pioneer of judgment — 



96 BITTEE SWEET. 

Ordained, commissioned — ^is Ingratitude ; 

For where it moves, good withers ; blessings die ; 

Till a clean path is left for Providence, 

Who never sows a good the second time 

Till the torn bosom of the graceless soil 

Is ready for the seed. 

GEAOE. 

Oh, could you know 
The anguish of my heart, you would not chide ! 
If I repine, it is because my lot 
Is not the blessed thing it seems to you. 
O Mary ! Could yon know ! Could you but know I 

MART. 

Then why not tell me all? You know me, love, 
And know that secrets make their graves with me 
So, tell me all ; for I do promise you 
Such sympathy as God through suffering 



BITTER-SWEET. 97 

Has giv^en me power to grant to such as you. 
I bought it dearly, and its largess waits 
The openmg of your heart. 

GEACE. 

I am ashamed, — ^ 
In truth, I am ashamed — to tell you alL 
You will not laugh at me ? 

MAKY. 

I laugh at you? 

GRACE. 

Forgive me, Mary, for my heart is weak ; 
Distrustful of itself and all the world. 
Ah, well! To what strange issues leads our life! 
It seems but yesterday that you were brought 
To this old house, an orphaned little girl, 
Whose large shy eyes, pale cheeks, and shrinking 
ways 



98 BITTEH-SWEET. 

Filled all our ^earts with wonder, as we stood 

And stared at you, until your heart o'erfiUed 

With the oppressive strangeness, and you wept. 

Yes, I remember how I pitied you — 

I who had never wept, nor even sighed. 

Save on the bosom of my gentle mother ; 

For my quick heart caught all your history 

When with a hurried step you sought the sun, 

And pressed your eyes against the window-pane 

That God's sweet light might dry them. Well I kne^, 

Though all untaught, that you were motherless. 

And I remember how I followed you, — 

Embraced and kissed you — kissed your tears awaj' — 

Tears that came faster, till they bathed the lips 

That would have sealed their flooded fountain-heads ; 

And then we w^ound our arms around each other, 

And passed out — out under the pleasant sky. 

And stood among the lilies at the door. 

I gave no formal comfort; you, no thanks; 



BITTER-SWEET. 99 

For tears had been your language, kisses mine, 
And we were friends. We talked about our dolls. 
And all the pretty playthings we possessed. 
Then we revealed, with childish vanity, 
Our little stores of knowledge. I was full 
Of a sweet marvel when you pointed out 
The yellow thighs of bees that, half asleep, 
Plundered the secrets of the lily-bells. 
And called the golden pigment honey-comb. 
And your black eyes were opened very wide 
.Wlien I related how, one sunny day, 
1 found a well, half-covered, down the lane, 
That was so deep and clear that I could see 
Straight through the world, into another sky I 

MARY. 

Do you remember how the Guinea hens 

Set up a scream upon the garden wall. 

That frightened me to runnmg, when you screamed 

With laughter quite as loud? 



100 BITTER-SWEET. 



GRACE. 



Aye, very well 5 
But better still the scene that followed all. 
Oh, that has lingered in my memory 
Like that divinest di-eam of Raphael — 
The Dresden virgin prisoned in a pnnt — 
That watched with me in sickness through long weekft, 
And from its frame upon the ch amber- waU 
Breathed constant benedictions, till I learned 
To love the presence like a Roman saint. 

My mother called us in ; and at her knee, 

Embracing still, we stood, and felt ]ier smile 

Shine on our up-turned faces like the light 

Of the soft summer moon. And then she stooped ; 

And when she kissed us, I could see tlie tears 

Brimming her eyes. O sweet experiment ! 

To try if love of Jesus and of me 

Could make our kisses equal to her lips ! 

Then straight my prescient heart set up a song, 



BITTEE-SWEET. 101 

Aud fluttered in my bosom like a bird. 

I knew a blessing was about to fall, 

As robins know the coming of the ram, 

And bruit the joyous secret, ere its steps 

Are heard upon the mountain tops. I knew 

You were to be my sister; and my heart 

Was almost bursting with its love and pride. 

I could not wait to hear the kindly words 

Our mother spoke— her counsels and commands — 

For you were mine — my sister ! So I tore 

Your clinging hand from hers with rude constraint, 

And took you to my chamber, where I played ' 

With you, in selfish sense of property. 

The whole bright afternoon. 

And here again, 
Withm this same old chamber we are met. 
We told our secrets to each other then ; 
Thus let us tell them now ; and you shall be 
To my grief-burdened soul what you have said, 
So many times that I have been to yours. 



102 BITTER-SWEET. 

MART. 

Alas 1 I never meant to tell my tale 
To other ear than God's ; but you have claims 
Upon my confidence, — claims just rehearsed, 
And other claims which you have never known. 



GRACE. 

And other claims which I have never known ! 

You speak in riddles, love. I only know 

You grew to womanhood, were beautiful, 

Were loved and wooed, were married and were blest ;- 

That after passage of mysterious years 

We heard &ad stories of your misery. 

And rumors of desertion ; but your pen 

Revealed no secrets of your altered life. 

Enough for me that you are here to-night, 

And have an ear for sorrow, and a heart 

Which dkappointment has inhabited. 



BITTERSWEET. 103 

My history you know. A twelvemonth since 

This fearful, festive night, and in this house, 

I gave my hand to one whom I believed 

To be the noblest man God ever made; — 

A man who seemed to my infatuate heart 

Heaven's chosen genius, through whose tuneful soul 

The choicest harmonies of life should flow, 

Growing articulate upon his lips 

In numbers to enchant a willing world. 

I cannot tell you of the pride that filled 

My bosom, as I marked his manly form. 

And read liis soul through his effulgent eyes, 

And heard the wondrous music of his voice. 

That swept the chords of feeling in all hearts 

With such divine persuasion as might grow 

Under the transit of an angel's hand. 

And, then, to think that I, a farmer's child. 

Should be the woman culled from all the world 

To be that man's companion, — to abide 

The nearest soul to such a soul — to sit 



104 BITTER-SWEET. 

« 

Close by the fountain of his peerless life — 
The welling centre of his loving thoughts — 
And drink, myself, the sweetest and the best, — 
To lay my head upon his breast, and fe^l 
That of all precious burdens it had borne 
That was most precious — Oh ! my heart was wild 
With the deUrium of happiness — 
But, Mary, you are weeping ! 

MART. 

Mark it not. 
Your words wake memories which you may guess. 
And thoughts which you may sometime know — ^not now 

GRACE. 

Well, we were married, as I said ; and I 

Was not unthankful utterly, I think ; 

Though, if the awful question had come then, 

And stood before me with a brow severe 

And steady finger, bidding me decide \ 



BITTER-SWEET. . IQg 

Which of the two I loved the more, the God 

Who gave my husband to me, or his gift, 

I know I should have groaned, and shut my eyes. 

We passed a honeymoon whose atmosphere, 

Flooded with inspiration, and embraced 

By a wide sky set full of sttu-ry thoughts, 

And constellated visions of delight, 

Still wraps me in my dreams— itself a dream. 

The full moon waned at last, and in my sky. 

With horn inverted, gave its sign of tears ; 

And then, when wasted to a skeleton, 

It sank mto a heavuig sea of tears 

That caught its tumult from my sighing soul. 

My husband, who had spent whole months ^ath me, 

Till he was wedded to my every thought, 

Left me through dreary hours,~nay, days,— alone I 

le pleaded business— business day and night; 

.eaving me with a formal kiss at morn, 

And meeting me with strange reserve at eve; 

.5* 



103 BITTER-SWEET. 

And I could mark the sea of tenderness 

Upon whose beadi I had sat down for life, 

Hoping to feel for ever, as at first, 

The love-breeze from its billows, and to clasp 

With open arms the silver surf that ran 

To wreck itself upon my bosom, ebb. 

Day after day receding, till the sand 

Grew dry and hot, and the old hulls appeared 

Of hopes sent out upon that faithless main 

Since woman loved, and he she loved was false. 

Night after night I sat the evening out, 

And heard the clock tick on the mantel-tree 

Till it grew irksome to mo, and I grudged 

The careless pleasures of the kitchen maids 

Whose distant laughter shocked the lapsing hours, 

MARY. 

But did youi husband never tell the cause 
Of this neglect ? 



BITTER-SWEET. 107 



GRACE. 



Never an honest word. 
He told me he was writing ; and, at home, 
Sat down with heart absorbed and absent look. 
I was offended, and upbraided him. 
[ knew he had a secret, and that from 
The centre of its closely coihng folds 
A cunning serpent's head, with forked tongue, 
Swayed with a double story — one for me, 
And one for whom I knew not — whom he knew. 
His words, which wandered first as carelessly 
As the fi-ee footsteps of a boy, were trained 
To the stern paces of a sentinel 
Guarding a prison door, and never tripped 
With a suggestion. 

I despaired at last 
Of winning what I sought by wiles and prayers ; 
So, through long nights of sleeplessness I lay, 
And hold my ear beside his silent lips — 



i08 BITTER-SWEET 

An eager cup — ready to catch the gush 

Of the pent waters, if a dream-swung rod 

Should smite his bosom. It was all in vain. 

And thus months passed away, and all the while 

Another heart was beating under mine. 

May Heaven forgive me ! but I grieved the charms 

The unborn thing was stealing, for I felt 

That in my insufficiency of power 

1 had no charm to lose. 

MARY. 

And did he not, 
In this most tender trial of your heait, 
Turn in relenting ? — give you sympathy ? 

GRACE. 

No — yes ! Perhaps he pitied me, and that 
Indeed was very pitiful ; for what 
Has love to do with pity ? When a wife 
Has sunk so hopelessly in the regard 



BITTEK -SWEET. lOii 

Of him she loves that he can pity her, — 

Has sunk so low that she may only share 

The tribute which a mute hum.imty 

Bestows on those whom Providence has struck 

With helpless poverty, or foul disease ; 

She may be pitied, both by earth and heaven, 

Because he pities her. A pitied child 

That begs its bread from door to door is blest ; 

A wife who begs for love and confidence. 

And gets but alms from pity, is accurst. 

Well, tune passed on ; and rumor came at last 
To tell the story of my husband's shame 
And my dishonor. He was seen at night. 
Walking in lonely streets with one whose eyes 
Were blacker than the night, — whose little hand 
Was clinging to his arm. Both were absorbed 
In the half-whispered converse of the time ; 
And both, as if accustomed to the path, 
Turned down an alley, climbed a flight of steps 



no BITTER-SWEET. 

Entered a door, and closed it after them — 

A door of adamant 'twixt hope and me. 

I had my secret; and I kept it, too. 

I knew his hannt, and it was watclied for me, 

Till doubt and prayers for doubt, — pale flowers 

I nourished with my tears — were crushed 

By the relentless hand of Certainty. 

Oh, Mary! Mary! Those were fearful days. 
My wi'ongs and all their shameful history 
Were opened to me daily, leaf by leafj 
Though he had only shown their title-page: 
That page was his ; the rest were in my heart. 
I knew that he had left my home for her's; 
I knew his nightly labor was to feed 
Other than me ; — that he was loaded do^^ii 
With cares that ^vere the price of sinful love. 

MA.KY. 

Grace, in your heart do you believe aU this? 



BITTER-SWEET. Ill 

I fear — I know — ^you do your husband Tvrong. 
He is not competent for treachery. " 
He is too good, too noble, to desert 
The woman whom he only loves too well. 
You love him not! 

GRACE. 

I love him not ? Alas ! 
I am more angry T\dth myseif than him 
That, spite his falsehood to his marriage vows, 
And spite my hate, I love the traitor still. 
I love him not? Why am I here to-night — 
Here where my girlhood's withered hopes are strewn 
Through every room for him to trample on — 
Rut in my pride to show him to you all. 
With the dear child that publishes a love 
That blessed me once, e'en if it curse me now ? 
Yon know I do my husband wrong ! You think, 
Because he can talk smoothly, and befool 
A simple ear with pious sophistries, 



112 BITTER-SWEET. 

He must be e'en the saintly man he seems. 

We heard him talk to-night ; it was done well. 

I saw the triumph of his argument, 

And I was proud, though full of spite the while^ 

His stuff was meant for me ; and, with intent, 

For selfish purpose, or in irony. 

He tossed me bitterness, and called it sweet. 

My heart rebelled, and now you know the cause 

Of my harsh words to him. 

MARY. 

'Tis very sad! 
Oh very — very sad ! Pray you go on I 
Who is this woman? 

GRACE. 

I have never learned. 
I only know she stole my husband's heart, 
And made me very wretched. I suppose 
That at the thne my httle babe A^^as born, 



BITTER-SWEET. 112 

She went away ; for David was at home 
For many days. That pain was bliss to me — 
I need no argument to teach me that — 
Which caused neglect of her, and gave offence. 
Since then, he has not where to go from me; 
And, loving well his child, he stays at home. 

So he lugs round his secret, and I mine. 

I call him, husband ; and he calls me, wife ; 

And I, who once was like an April day, 

That finds quick tears in every cloud, have steeled 

My heart against my fate, and now am calm. 

I will live on; and though these simple folk 

Who call me sister understand me not, 

It matters little. There is one who does; 

And he shall have no liberty of love 

By any word of mine. 'Tis woman's lot, 

And man's most weak and wicked wantonness. 

Mine is like other husbands, 1 suppose ; 

No worse — no better. 



il4 BITTER-SWEET. 

MARY. 

Ask you s}Tnpathy 
Of such as I ? I cannot give it you, 
For vou have shut me from the privilege. 

GRACE. 

I asked it once; you gave me unbelief. 

I had no choice but to grow hard again. 

»Tis my misfortune and my misery 

That every hand whose friiendly ministry 

My poor heart craves, is held — Tv^thheld — by him ; 

And I must freeze that I may stand alone, 

MARY. 

And so, because one man is false, or you 
Imagine him to be, all men are false; 
Do I speak nghtly? 

GRACE. 

Have it your own way. 
Men fit to love, and fitted to be loved. 



BITTER-SWEET. 115 

Are prone to falsehood. I will not gainsay 
The common virtue of the common herd. 
I prize it as I do the goodish men 
Yiho hold the goodish stuff, and know it not. 
These serve to fill an easy-going world, 
And that to clothe it with complacency. 

MARY. 

I had not thought misanthropy like this 
Could lodge with you ; so I must e'en confess 
A tale which never passed my lips before, 
Nor sent its flush to any cheek but mine. 
In this, I'll prove my friendship, if I lose 
The friendship which demands the sacrifice. 

I have come back, a worse than widowed wife ; 
Yet I went out with dream as bright as yours, — - 
N^ay, brighter, — for the birds were singing then, 
And apple-blossoms drifted on the ground 
"Where snow-flakes fell and flew Avhen you were wed. 



116 BITTER-SWEET. 

The skies were soft; the roses budded full: 

The meads and swelling uplands fresh and green ;- 

The very atmosphere was full of love. 

It was no girlish carelessness of heart 

That kept my eyes from tears, as I went fortft 

From this dear shelter of the orphan child, 

I felt that God was smiling on my lot, 

And made the airs his angels to convey 

To every sense and sensibility 

The message of his favor. Every sound 

Was music to me; every sight was peace; 

And breathingv was the drinting oi perfume, 

I said, content, and full of gratitude, 

*' This is as God would have it ; and he speaks 

These pleasant languages to tell me so." 

But I had no such honey-moon as yours. 
A few brief days of happiness, and then 
The dream was over. I had married one 
Who was the sport of vagrant impulses 



BITTER-SWEET. 11 

We had not been a fortnight wed, when he 

Came home to me with brandy m his brain— 

A maudlin fool — for love like mme to hide 

As if he were an unclean beast. O Grace I 

I cannot paint the horrors of that night. 

My heart, till then serene, and safely kept 

In Trust's strong citadel, quaked all night long, 

As tower and bastion fell before the rush 

Of fierce convictions ; and the tumbling walls 

Boomed with dull throbs of ruin through my brain. 

And there were palaces that leaned on this — 

Castles of air, in long and glittering lines, 

Which melted into air, and pierced the blue 

That marks the star-strewn vault of heaven ; — all felU 

With a faint crash like that which scares the soul 

When dissolution shivers through a dream 

Smitten by nightmare, — fell and faded all 

To utter nothingness; and when the morn 

Flamed up the East, and with its crimson wings 

Brushed out the paling stars that all the night 



ilS BITTER-SWEET. 

In silent, slow procession, one by one, 
Had gazed iii)on me throiigli the open sash, 
And passed along, it found me desolate. 

The stupid dreamer at my side awoke, 
And with such helpless anguish as they feel 
"Who know that they are weak as well as ^dle. 
I saw, through all his forward promises, 
Excuses, prayers, and pledges that were oaths 
(What he, poor boaster, thought I could not see) 
That he was shorn of will, and that his heart 
Was as defenceless as a little child's; — 
That underneath his fair good fellowship 
He was debauched, and dead in love with sin ;— 
That love of me had made hun what I loved, — 
That I could only hold him till the wave 
Of some o'erwhelming impulse should sweep in, 
To lift his feet and bear him from my arms. 
I felt that morn, when he went trembling forth. 
With bloodshot eyes and forehead hot with woe, 



BITTER-SWEET. 119 

That thenceforth strife would be 'twixt Hell and me — 
The odds against me — for my husband's soul. 

GRACE. 

Poor dove ! Poor Mary ! Have you suffered thus ? 
You had not even pride to keep you up. 
Were he my husband, I had left him then — 
The ingrate ! 

MAEY. 

Not if you had loved as I ; 
Yet what you know is but a bitter drop 
Of the full cup of gall that I have drained. 
Had he left me unstained, — had I rebelled 
Against the influence by which he sought 
To bring me to a compromise with him, — 
To make my shrinking soul meet his half way, — 
It had been better ; but he had an art, 
When appetite or passion moved in him, 
That clothed his sins with fair apolo^eB, 



120 BITTER-SWEET. 

And smoothed the wrinkles of a haggard guilt 

With the good-natured hand of charity. 

He kne-wr he was a fool, he said, and said again j 

But human nature would be what it was, 

And life had never zest enough to bear 

Too much dilution ; those who work like slaves 

Must have their days of frolic and of fun. 

He doubted whether God would punish sin ; 

God was, in fact, too good to punish sin ; 

For sin itself was a compounded thing, 

With weakness for its prime ingredient. 

And thus he fooled a heart that loved him well; 

And it went toward his heart by slow degrees. 

Till Virtue seemed a frigid anchonte, 

And Vice, a jolly fellow — ^bad enough. 

But not so bad as Christian people think. 

Tins was the cunning work of months — nay, years ; 
And, meantime, Edward sank fi*om bad to worse. 
But he had conquered. Wine was on his board, 



BITTER-SWEET. l^j] 

Without my protest— with a glass for me! 
His boon companions came and went, and made 
My home thoir rendezvous with my consent. 
The doughty oath that shocked my ears at first, 
The doubtful jest that meant, or might not mean, 
That which should set a woman's brow aflame, 
Became at last (oh, shame of womanhood !) 
A thing to frown at with a covert smile ; 

A thing to smile at with a decent frown ; 

A thing to steal a grace from, as I feigned 

The innocence of deaf unconsciousness. 

And I became a jester. I could jest 

In a ^dld way on sacred things and themes; 

And I have thought that in his better moods 

My husband shrank with horror from the work 

Which he had wi'ought in me. 

I do not know 

Ifj during all these downward-tending years, 

Edward kept well his faith with me. I know 

6 



122 BITTER-SWEET. 

He used to tell me, in his boastful way, 
How he had broke the hearts of pretty rnaids, 
And that if he were single — well-a-day ! 
The time was past for thinking upon that I 
And I had heart to toss the badinage 
Back in his teeth, Avith pay of kindred coin ; 
And tell him lies to stir his bestial mirth ; 
And make my boast of conquests; and pretend 
That the true heart I had bestowed on him 
Had flown, and left him but an empty hand. 

I had some days of pain and penitence. 
I saw where all must end. I saw, too well, 
Edward was growing idle, — that his form 
Was gathering disgustful coi*pulence, — 
That he was going down, and dragging me 
To shame and ruin, beggary and death. 
But judgment came, and overshadowed us ; 
And one quick bolt shot from the awful cloud 
Severed the tie that bound two worthless lives. 



BITTER-SWEET 123 

Wliat God hath joined together, God may part : — 
Grace, have you thought of that ? 

GRACE. 

You scare me, Mary ! 
Nay! Do not turn on me with such a look I 
Its dread suggestion gives my heart a pang 
That stops its painful beating. 

MARY. 

Let it pass ! 
One morn we woke with the first flush of light, 
Our windows jarring with the cannonade 
That ushered in the nation's festal day. 
The village streets were full of men and boys, 
And resonant with rattling mimicry 
Of the black-throated monsters on the hill, — 
A crashing, crepitating war of fire, — 
And as we listened to the fitful feud, 
Dull detonations came from lar away, 



124 BITTER-SWEET, 

Pulsing along the fretted atmosphere, 

To tell that m the ruder villages 

The day had noisy greeting, as in ours. 

I know not why it was, but then, and there, 

I felt a sinking sadness, passing tears — 

A dark foreboding I could not dissolve, 

Nor drive away. But when, next morn, I woke 

In the sweet stillness of the Sabbath day, 

And found myself alone, I knew that hearts 

Which once have been God's temple, and in w^hich 

Something divine still lingers, feel the throb 

Along the lines that bind them to The Throne 

When judgment issues ; and, though dumb and blind, 

Shudder and faint with prophecies of ill. 

How — ^by what cause — calamity should come, 

I could not guess; tnai it was imminent, 

Seemed just as certain as the morning's dawn. 

We w^ere to have a gala day, indeed. 



BITTEK-SWEET. 125 

There were to be processions and parades 

A great oration in a mammoth tent, 

With dinner followmg, and toast and speech 

By all the wordy magnates of the town; 

A grand balloon ascension afterwards; 

And, in the evenmg, fireworks on the hill. 

I knew that drink would flow from morn till night 

In a wild maelstrom, circling slow around 

The village rim, in bright careering waves, 

But growing turbulent, and changed to ink 

Around the village centre, till, at last. 

The whirling, gurgling vortex would engulf 

A maddened multitude in drunkenness. 

And this was in my thought (the while my heart 

Was palpitating with its nameless fear). 

As, wrapped m vaguest dreams, and purposeless, 

I laced my shoe and gazed upon the sky. 

Then strange determination stirred in me; 

And, turning sharply on my chair, I said, 

" Edward, where'er you go to-day, I go !» 



126 BITTER-SWEET. 

If I liad smitten bim upon the face, 

It bad not tingled with a hotter flame. 

lie turned upon me with a look of hate — 

A somethmg worse than anger — and, with oaths, 

Raved like a fiend, and cursed me for a fool. 

But I was firm ; he could not shake my »all ; 

So, through the mornmg, until afternoon. 

He stayed at home, and drank and drank again, 

Watching the clock, and pacing tip and down, 

Cntil, at length, he came and sat by me. 

To try his hackneyed tricks of blandishment. 

He had not meant, he said, to give offence; 

But women in a crowd were out of place. 

He wished to see the aeronauts embark, 

And meet some friends; but there would be a tlirong 

Of boys and drunken boors around the car, 

And I should not enjoy it; more than this, 

The rise would be a finer spectacle 

At home than on the ground. I gave assent, 

And he went out. Of course, 1 followed him ; 



BITTER-SWEET. 127 

For I had learned to read him, and I knew 
There was some precious scheme of sin on foot. 

The crowd was heavy, and his form was lost 
Quick as it touched the mass; but I pressed on, 
Wild shouts and laughter punishing my ears, 
Till I could see the bloated, breathing cone, 
As if it were some monster of the sky 
Caught by a net and fastened to the earth — 
A butt for jeers to all the merry mob. 
But I was distant still; and if a man 
In mad impatience tore a passage from 
The crowd that pressed upon him, or a girl, 
Frightened or fainting, was allowed escape, 
I slid like water to the vacant space. 
And thus, by deftly won advances, gained 
The stand I coveted. 

We waited long; 
And as the curious gazers stood and talked 



128 BITTER-SWEEl. 

ALout the diverse currents of the air, 
.And wondered ivhere the daring voyagers 
Would find a landing-place, a young man said, 
In words intended for a spicy jest, 
A man and woman living in the town 
Had taken passage overland for hell! 

Then at a distance rose a scattering shout 

TJiat fixed the vision of the multitude, 

Standing on eager tiptoe, and afar 

I saw the crowd give way, and make a path 

For the pale heroes of the crazy hour. 

Hats were tossed wildly as they struggled on. 

And the gap closed behind them, till, at length. 

They stood within the ring. Oh, damning sight 

The woman was a painted courtezan ; 

Thf man, my nusoana i i was aumo as aeatn. 

My teetn »cr:* blenched together like a vice, 

And every heavy heart-throb was a cinll. 

Hut there I stood, and saw the shame go on. 



BITTER-SWEET. 129 

They took their seats the signal gun was fired; 
The cords were loosed . and then the billowy balk 
Shot toward the zenith! 

Never bent the sky 
With a more cloudless depth of blue than then ; 
And, as they rose, I saw his faithless arm 
Slide o'er her shoulder, and her dizzy head 
Drop on his breast. Then I became insane. 
I felt that I was struggling with a dream — 
A horrid phantasm I could not shake off. 
The hollow sky was swinging like a bell ; 
The silken monster swinging like its tongue; 
And as it reeled from side to side, the roar 
Of voices round me rang, and rang again, 
Tolling the dreadful knell of my despair. 

\t the last moment I could trace his form, 
Edward leaned over from his giddy seat, 
And tossed out something on the air, I saw 



130 BITTER-SWEET. 

Tbe little missive fluttering slowly do\m, 

And stretclied ray hand to catch it, for I knew, 

Or thought I knew, that it would come to me. 

And it did come to me — as if it slid 

Upon the cord that bound my hean to his — 

Strained to its utmost tension — snapped at last. 

I marked it as it fell. It was a rose. 

I grasped it madly as it struck my hand, 

And buried all its thorns within my palm ; 

But the fierce pain released my prisoned voice. 

And, wdth a shriek, I staggered, swooned, and fell. 

That night was brushed from life. A passing fiiend 

Directed those who bore me rudely off; 

And I was carried to my home, and hiid . 

Entranced upon my bed. Tlie Sabbath morn 

That followed all this din and devilry 

Swung noiseless wide its doors of yellow light, 

And in the hallowed >tillness I awoke. 

^ly heart was still ; I could not stir a hand. 



BITTER-SWEET. 13j 

[ thought that I was dying, or was dead, — 

That I had slipped through smooth unconsciousness 

Into the everlasting silences. 

I could not speak ; but winning strength, at last, 

1 turned my eyes to seek for Edward's face. 

And saw an unpressed pillow. He was gone! 

I was oppressed with awful sense of loss; 

And, as a mother, by a turbid sea 

That has engulfed her fairest child, sits down 

And moans over the waters, and looks out 

With curious despair upon the waves. 

Until she marks a lock of floating hair, 

4nd by its threads of gold draws slowly in, 

^nd clasps and presses to her frenzied breast 

Che form it has no power to warm again, 

So I, beside the sea of memory, 

^;ay feebly moaning, yearning for a clew 

By which to reach my own extinguished life. 

ft came. A burning pain shot through my pahn, 



132 BITTEK-SWEET. 

And thorns awoke what tliorns had put to sleep. 
It ail came back to me — the roar, the rush, 
Tlie uptuined faces, the insane hurras, 
The skyward shooting spectacle, the shame — 
And then I swooned again. 

GRACE. 

But was he killed? 
Did his foolhardy venture end in wreck? 
Or did it end in something worse than T\Teck? 
Surely, he came again! 

MART. 

To me, no more. 
He had his reasons, and I knew them soon ; 
But, first, the fire enkindled in my brain 
Burnt through long weeks of fever — burnt my frame 
Until it lay upon the sheet as white 
As the i^ale ashes of a wasted coal. 
Til en, when strength came to me, and I could sit, 



BITTER-SWEET. 133 

Braced by the dotible pillows that were mine, 
A kind friend took iny hand, and told me all. 

The day that Edward left me was the last 

He could have been my husband; for the next 

Disclosed his infamy and my disgrace. 

He was a thief, and had been one, for years, — ■ 

Defrauding those whose gold he held in trust; 

And he was ruined — ruined utterly. 

The very, bed I sat on was not his^ 

Nor mine, except by tender charity. 

A guilty secret menacing behind, 

A guilty passion burning in his heart, 

And, by his side, a guilty paramour. 

He seized upon this reckless whim, and fled 

From those he knew would curse him ere hf slept 

My cup was filled with wormwood; and it grew 
Bitter and still more bitter, day by day, 
Changing from shame and hate, to stern revenge. 



184 BITTER-SWEET. 

Life had no more for me. My home was lost: 

My heart unfitted to return to tliis; 

And, reckless of the future, I went forth — 

A woman stricken, maddened, desperate. 

I sought 'the city with as sure a scent 

As vultures track a carcass through the air. 

I knew him there, delivered up to sin, 

And longed to taunt him with his infamy, — 

To haunt his haunts; to sting his perjured soul 

With sharp reproaches; and to scare his eyes 

With visions of his work upon my face. 

But God had other means than my revenge 
To humble him, and other thought for me. 
I saw him only once ; we did not meet ; 
There was a street between us; yet it seemed 
Wide as the unbridged gulf that yawns between 
The rich man and the beggar. 

'Twas at dawn. 



BITTER-SWEET. 13.^: 

I had arisen from the sleepless bed 

Which my scant moans had purchased, and gone Ibrt} 

To taste the air, and cool my burning brow. 

I wandered on, not knowing where I went, 

Nor carmg whither. There were few astir; 

The market wagons lumbered slowly in, 

PUed hign with carcasses of slaughtered lambs. 

Baskets of unhusked corn, and mint, and all 

The fresh, green things that grow in country lields. 

I read the signs — the long and curious names — 

And wondered who invented them, and if 

Their owners knew how very strange they were. 

A corps of weary firemen met me once. 

Late home from service, with their gaudy car, 

And loud with careless curses. Then I stopped, 

And chatted with a frowsy-headed girl 

Who. knelt among her draggled skirts, and scrubbed 

The heel-worn door-steps of a faded house. 

Then, as I left her, and resumed my walk, 

r turned my eyes across the street, and saw 



1.36 BITTER-SWEET. 

A sight which stopped my feet, my breath, my heart 

It was my hiisbaud. Oh, hoM' sadly changed! 

His bloodshot eyes stared from an anxious foce ; 

His hat was battered, and his clothes were torn 

And splashed with mud. His poisoned frame 

Had shrunk away, until his garments hung 

In folds about him. Then I knew it all : 

His hfe had been a measureless debauch 

Since his most shameless flight; and in his eye, 

Eager and strained, and peering down the stairs 

That tumbled to the ante-rooms of heU, 

I saw the thirst which only death can quench. 

He did not raise his eyes ; I did not speak ; 

There was no work for me to do on him; 

And when, at last, he tottered down the steps 

Of a dark gin-shop, I was satisfied. 

And half relentingly retraced my way. 

f cannot tell the story of the months 

That followed this. I toiled and toiled for brtiad, 



BITTER-SWEET. 137 

And for the shelter of one stingy room. 

Temptation, M^hich the hand of poverty 

Bears oft seductively to woman's lips, 

To me came not. I hated men like beasts; 

Their flattering words, and wicked, wanton leers, 

Sickened me with ineffable disgust. 

At length there came a change. One warm Sprmg eve, 

As I sat idly dreaming of the past. 

And questioning the future, my quick ear 

Caught sound of feet upon the creaking stairs, 

And a light rap delivered at my door. 

I said, "Come in!" with half defiant voice, 

Although I longed to see a human face. 

And needed labor for my idle hands. 

But when the door was opened, and there stood 

A man before me, with an eye as pure 

And brow as fair as any little child's. 

Matched with a form and carriage which combmed 

All manly beauty, dignity, and grace, 



188 BITTER-S-WEET. 

A quick blnsli overwhelmed my pallid cheeks, 
And, ere I knew, and by no act of will, 
I rose and gave him gentle com-tesy. 

He took a seat, and spoke with pleasant voice 
Of many pleasant things — the pleasant sky, 
The stars, the opening foHage in the park ; 
And then he came to business. He would have 
A piece of exquisite embroidery ; 
IMy hand was cunning if report were true ; 
Would it oblige him? It would do, I said, 
That which it could to satisfy his wish ; 
And when he took the delicate pattern out. 
And spread the dainty fabric on his knees, 
I knew he had a wife. 

He went away 
With kind "Good night," and said that, \dth my leavej 
He'd call and watch the progress of the work. 
I marked his careful sie^^s adown the stairs, 



BITTER-SWEET. 139 

And then, his brisk, firm tread upon the pave, 

Till in the dull roar of the distant streets 

It mingled and was lost. Then I was lost, — 

Lost in a wild, wide-ranging reverie — 

From which I roused not till the midnight hush 

Was broken by the toll from twenty towers. 

This is a man, I said; a man in truth; 

My room has known the presence of a man. 

And it has gathered dignity from him. 

I felt my being flooded with new life. 

My heart was warm ; my poor, sore-footed thoughts 

Sprang up full fledged through ether ; and I felt 

Like the sick woman who had touched the hem 

Of Jesus' garment, when through all her vems 

Leaped the swift tides of youth. 

He had a wife ! 
Wliy, to a wrecked, forsaken thing like me 
Did that thought bring a pang ? • I did not know i 



140 BITTER-SWEET 

But, truth to tell, it gave me stinging pain. 

If ho was noble, he was naught to me ; 

If he was great, it only made me less ; 

If he loved truly, I was not enriched. 

So, in my selfishness, I almost cursed 

The unknown woman, thought for whom had brought 

Her loving husband to me. What was I 

To him ? Naught but a poor unfortunate, 

Picking her bread up at a needle's point. 

He'll come and criticise my handiwork, 

I said, and when it is at last complete, 

He'll draw his purse and give me so much gold } 

And then, forgetting me for ever, go 

And gather fragrant kisses for the boon. 

From lips that do not know their privilege. 

I could be nothing but the medium 

Through which his love should pass to reach its shrine j 

The glass through which the sun's electric beams 

Kindles the rose's heart, and still remains 

(Jhill and serene itself — without reward 1 



BITTER-SWEET. 141 

Then came to me the thought of my great wrong. 

A man had spoiled my heart, degraded me ; 

A vranton woman had defrauded me ; 

I would get reparation how I could ! 

He must be something to me — I to him ! 

All men, however good, are weak, I thought ; 

And if I can arrest no beam of love 

By right of nature or by leave of law, 

I'll stain the glass ! And the last words I said, 

As I lay down upon my bed to dream, 

Were those four words of sin : " I'll stain the glass !" 

GEACE. 

Mary, I cannot hear you more ; your tale, 
So bitter and so passing pitiful 
I have forgotten tears, and feel my eyes 
Bum dry and hot with looking at your face, 
Now gathers blackness, and grows horrible. 



142 BITTER-SWEET 

MARY. 

Nay, you must hear rae out ; I cannot pause ; 
And have no. worse to say than I have said- 
Thank God, and him who put away my toils I 

He came, and came again ; and every charm 
God had bestowed on me, or art could frame, 
I used with keenest ingenuities 
To fascinate the sensuous element • 
O'er which, mistrusted, and but half asleep. 
His conscience and propriety stood guard. 
I told with tears the story of my woe ; 
He listened to me with a thoughtful face, 
And sadly sighed ; and thus I won his ruth. 
And then I told him how my life was lost ; — 
How earth had nothing more for me but pain ; 
Not e'en a friend. At this, he took my hand. 
And said, out of his nobleness of heart, , 
That I should have an horfest friend in him ; 
On which I bowed my head upon his arm. 



BITTER-SWEET. 143 

And wept again, as if my heart would break 

With the full pressure of its gratitude. 

He I at me gently off, and read my face ; 

I stood before him hopeless, lielpless, his ! 

His swift soul gathered what I meant it should. 

He sighed and trembled ; then he crossed the floor, 

And gazed with eye abstracted on the sky ; 

Then came and looked at me ; then turned, 

As if affrighted at his springing thoughts, 

And, with abruptest movement, left the room. 

This time he took with him the broidered thing 

That I had wrought for him ; and when I oped 

The little purse that he rewarded me, 

I found full golden payment five times told. 

Given from pity ? thought I, — that alone ? 

Is manly pity so munificent ? 

Pity has mixtures that it knows not of I 

ft was a cruel triumph, and I speak 



144 BITTER-SWEET. 

Of it with utter penitence and shame. 

I knew that he would come again ; I knew 

His feet would bring him, though his Boul rebelled 

I knew that cheated heart of his would toy 

Witl: the seductive chains that gave it thrall, 

And strive to reconcile its perjury 

With its own conscience of the better way, 

By fabrication of apologies 

It knew were false. 

And he did come again j 
Confessing a strange interest in me, 
And doing for me many kindly deeds. 
I knew the nature of the sympathy 
That drew him to my side, better than he ; 
Though I could see that solemn change in him 
Which every face will wear, when Heaven and HeD 
Are struggling in the heart for mastery. 
He was unhappy ; every sudden sound 
Startled his apprehensions ; from his heart 



BITTER-SWEET. 146 

Rose Ijeavy suspirations, charged with prayer, 

Desire, and deprecation, and remorse ; — 

Sighs like volcanic breathings — sighs that scorched 

His parching lips and spread his face with ashes,—' 

Siofhs born in such convulsions of the soul 

That his strong frame quaked like Vesuvius, 

Burdened mth restless \iwa. 

Day by day 
1 marked this dalliance with sinful thought, 
Without a throb of pity in my heart. 
I took his gifts, which brought immunity 
From toil and care, as if they were my right. 
Day after day I saw my power increase, 
Until that noble spirit was a slave — 
A craven, helpless, self-suspected slave. 

But this was not to last — thank God and him! 

One night he came, and there had been a change. 

My hand was kindly taken, but not held 

7 



146 BITTER-SWEET. 

In the "^'ay wonted. He was self-possessed ; 

The powers of darkness and his Christian heart 

Had had a struggle — his the victory; 

And on his manly brow the benison 

Of a majestic peace had been imposed. 

Was I to lose the guerdon of my guile ? 

He was my all, and by the only means 

Left to a helpless, reckless thing, like me : 

My heart made pledge the strife should be renewed, 

I took no notice of his altered mood, 

But strove, by all the tricks of tenderness, 

To fan to life again the drooping flame 

Within his heart; — with what success, at last, 

The sequel shall reveal. ' , 

Strange fire came down 
Responsive to my call, and the quick flash 
That shrivelled resolution, vanquished will, 
And with a blood-red flame consumed the crown 
Of peace upon his brow, taught him how weak — 



BITTER-SWEET. 147 

IJow miserably imbecile— he had become, 

Tampering with temptation. Such a groan, 

Wrung from such agony, as then he breathed. 

Pray Heaven my ears may never hear again 1 

He smote his forehead with his rigid palm, 

And sank, as if the blow had stunned him, to his 

knees, 
And there, with face pressed Lard upon his hands, 
Gave utterance to frenzied sobs and prayers — 
The wild articulations of despair. 
I was confounded. He — a man — thought I, 
Blind with remorse by simple look at sin ! 
And I — a woman — in the devil's hands, 
Luring him Hellward with no blush of shame * 
The thought came swift from God, and pierced my 

heart. 
Like a barbed arrow; and it quivered there 
Through whiles of tumult — quivered — and was fast ! 

Thus, while I stood and marked his kneeling form, 



148 BITTER-SWEET. 

Still shocked by deep convulsions, such a light 

Illumed my soul, and flooded all the room, 

That, without thought, I said, " The Lord is here !" 

Then straight my spirit heard these wondrous words: 

'* Tempted in all points like om-selves, was He — 

Tempted, but sinless." Oh, what majesty 

Of meaning did those precious words convey ! 

'Twas through temptation, thought I, that the Lord- 

The mediator between God and men — 

Reached down the hand of sympathetic love 

To meet the grasp of lost Humanity ; 

And this man, kneeling, has the Lord in him, 

And comes to mediate 'twixt Christ and me, 

"Tempted but sinless;" — one hand grasping mine, 

The other Christ's. 

Why had he sufiered thus? 
Why had his heart been led far down to mine, 
To beat in sinful sympathy wdth mine. 
But that my heart should cling to his and him, 



BITTER-SWEET. 149 

And follow his withdrawal to the heights 

From whence he had descended ? Then I learned 

Why Christ was tempted ; and, as broad and full, 

The heart of the great secret was revealed, 

And I perceived God's dealings with my soul, 

I knelt beside the tortured man and wept, 

And cried to Heaven for mercy. As I prayed, 

My soul cast off its shameful enterprise ; 

And when it fell, I saw my godless self— 

My own degraded, tainted, guilty heart. 

Which it had hidden from me. Oh, the pang— 

The poignant throe of uttermost despair — 

That followed the discovery I I felt 

That I was lost beyond the grace of God ; 

And my heart turned with instinct sure and swift 

To the strong struggler, praying at my side. 

And begged his succor and his prayers. I felt 

That he must lead me up to where the hand 

Of Jesus could lay hold on me, or I was doomed. 



160 BITTER-SWEET. 

Tempt aticm's spell was past. lie took my hand, 

And, as he prayed that we might be forgiven. 

And pledged our future loyalty to God 

And his white throne within our hearts, I gave 

Responses to each promise ; then I crowned 

His closing utterance with such Amen 

As weak hearts, conscious of their weakness, give 

When, bowed to dust, and clinging to the robes 

Of outraged mercy, they devote themselves 

Once and for ever to the pitying Christ. 

Then we arose and stood upon our feet. 

He gave me no reproaches, but with voice 

Attempered to his altered mood, confessed 

His own blameworthiness, and pressed the prayer 

That I would pardon him, as he beiieved 

That God had pardoned; but my I;eart was full,- 

So full of its sore sense of wrong to him, 

Of the deep guilt of shameful purposes 

And treachery to worthy womanhood, 



BITTER-SWEET. 151 

That I could not repeat his Christian words, 
Asking forbearance on my own behalf. 

He sat before me for a golden hoar; 

And gave me counsel and encouragement, 

Till, like broad gates, the possibilities 

Of a serener and a higher life 

Were thrown wide open to my eager feet, 

And I resolved that I would enter in, 

And, with God's gracious help, go no more out. 

For weeks he watched me with stern carefulness, 
Nourished my resolution, prayed mth me. 
And led me, step by step, to higher groimd. 
Till, gathering impulse in the upward walk. 
And strength in purer air, and keener sight 
In the sweet light that dawned upon my soul, 
I grasped the arm of Jesus, and was safe. 
And now, when I look back upon my Ufe, 
It seems as if that noble man were sent 



152 BITTER-SWEET. 

To give me rescue from the pit of death. 

But from his distant height he could not reach 

And act upon my soul; so Heaven allowed 

Temptation's ladder 'twixt his soul and mine 

That they might meet and yield his mission thrift. 

I doubt not in my grateful soul to-night 

That had he stayed within his higher world, 

And tried to call me to him, I had spurned 

Alike his mission and his ministry. 

That he was tempted, was at once my sin 

And my salvation. That he sinned in thought, 

And fiercely wrestled with temptation, won 

For his own spirit that humility 

Which God had sought to clothe him with in vahi, 

By other measures, and that strength which springs 

From a great conflict and a victory. 

We talked of this ; and on our bended knees 

We blessed the Great Dispenser for the means 

By >\hich we both had learned our sinful selves, 

And found the way to a diviner life. 



BITTER-SWEET. 153 

So, with my chastened heart and life, I come 
Back to my home, to live — perhaps to die. 
God's love has been in all this discipline; 
God's love has used those awful sins of mine 
To make me good and happy. I can mourn 
Over my husband; I can pray for him, 
N"ay, I forgive him; for I know the power 
With which temptation comes to stronger men. 
I know the power with which it came to me. 

And now, dear Grace, my story is complete. 
You have received it with dumb wonderment, 
And it has been too long. Tell me what thought 
Stirs in your face, and waits for utterance. 

GRACE. 

That I have suffered little — trusted less; 
ITiat I have failed in charity, and been 
Unjust to all men — specially to one. 
I did not think there lived a man on earth 



154 BITTER-SWEET. 

Who had such virtue as this friend of yours,—" 

Weak, and yet strong. 'Twere but humanity 

To give him pity in his awful strife; 

To stint the meed of reverence and praise 

For his triumphant conquest of himself. 

Were infamy. I love and honor him; 

And if I knew my husband were as strong, 

I could fall do^vn before, and worship him; 

I could fall down, and wet his feet T\dth tears — ^ 

Tears penitential for the grievous "v\Tong 

That I have done him. But alas ! alas ! 

The thought comes back again. O God in Heaven 

Help me with patience to await the hour 

When the great purpose of thy discipHne 

Shall be revealed, and, like this chastened one, 

I can behold it, and be satisfied. 



MABY. 



Hark I They are calling us below, I think. 



BITTER-SWEET. 155 

We must go down. We'll talk of this again 
When we have leisure. Kiss the little one, 
And thank his weary brain it sleeps so well. 

[ They descend. 



SECOND EPISODE. 



LOCALITY— 2%« EUohm. 
PB£S£NT— JosBPE, Sahttbl, Ebbekah, and other Csildkkv 



THE QUESTION ILLUSTBATED BY STORY. 
JOSEPH. 

Have we not had ** Button-Button " enough, 
And "Forfeits," and all such silly stuff? 

SAMUEL. 

Well, we were playing " Blind-Man's-Buff " 
Until you fell, and rose in a huff, 



158 BITTER-SWEET. 

And declared the game was too rude and rough, 
Poor boy ! What a pity he isn't tough ! 

ALL. 

Hal hal ha! what a pretty boyl 
Papa's delight, and mamma's joy! 
Wouldn't he like to go to bed, 
And have a cabbage-leaf on his head ? 

JOSEPH. 

Laugh, if you like to ! Laugh till you "-e gray ; 

But I guess you'd laugh another way 

If you'd hit your toe, and fallen like me, 

And cut a bloody gash in your knee, 

And bumped your nose and bruised your shin. 

Tumbling over the rolling-pin 

That rolled to the floor m the awful din 

That followed the fall of the row of tin 

That stood upon the dresser. 



BITTEH-SWEET. 169 



SAMUEL, 



Guess again — deai ittle guesser ! 
You wouldn't catch this boy lopping his wing, 
Or whining over anything. 
So stir your stumps, 
Forget your bumps, 
Get out of your dumps, 
And up and at it again ; 
For the clock is striking ten, 
And Ruth will come pretty soon and say, 
" Go to your beds 
You sleepy heads I" 
So— quick I What shall we play ? 

REBEKAH, 

I wouldn't play any more, 
For Joseph is tired and sore 
With his fall upon the floor 



160 BITTER-SWEET. 

ALL. 

Then he shall tell a story, 

JOSEPH. 

About old Mother Morey ? 

▲LL. 

No I Tell us another 

JOSEPH. 

About my brother ? 

KEBEKAH. 

Now, Joseph, you shall be good. 

And do as you'd be done by ; 

We didn't mean to be rude 

When you fell" and began to cry; 

We wanted to make you forget your pain 5 

But it frets you, and we'll not laugh again. 



BITTER-SWEET, 161 

JOSEPH 

Well, if you'll all sit still, 

And not be frisking about, 

Nor utter a whisper till 

You've heard my story out, 

I'll tell you a tale as weird 

As ever you heard in your nves, 

Of a man with a long blue beard, 

And the way he treated his wives. 

ALL. 

Oh, that will be nice ! 
We'll be still as mice. 

JOSEPH. 

[Relates the old story of Blue Beard, and Davo) 2nd RuTB «9»/^ 
from the cellar unperceived. 

Centuries since there flourished a man, 
(A cruel old Tartar as rich as the Khan,) 



162 BITTER-SWEET. 

Whose castle was built on a splendid plan, 

With gardens and groves and plantations; 
But his shaggy beard was as blue as the sky, 
And he lived alone, for his neighbors were shy, 
Ajid had heard hard stories, by the by, 
About his domesti relations. 

Just on the opposite side of the plain 

A widow abode, with her daughters twain; 

And one of them — ^neither cross nor vain — 

Was a beautiful little treasure ; 
So he sent them an invitation to tea, 
And having a natural ,wish to see 
His wonderful castle and gardens, all three 

Said they'd do themselves the pleasure. 

As soon as there happened a pleasant day, 
They dressed themselves in a sumptuous way, 
And rode to the castle as proud an I gay 
As silks and jewels co ild make tlem; 



BITTER-SWEET. 163 

And they were received in the finest style, 
And saw everything that was worth their wnile, 
Ir the halls of Blue Beard's grand old pile, 
Where he was so kind as to take them. 

The ladies were all enchanted quite ; 
For they found old Blue Beard so polite 
That they did not suffer at all from fright. 

And frequently called thereafter ; 
Then he offered to marry the younger one, 
And as she was willing the thing was done, 
And celebrated by all the ton 

With feasting and with laughter. 

As kmd a husband as ever was seen 

Was Blue Beard then, for a month, I ween; 

And she was as proud as any queen, 

A^d as happy as she could be, too ; 
But her husband called her to him one day, 
And said, " My dear, I am going away ; 



16-3: BITTER-SWEET. 

It will not be long that I shall stay; 
There is business for me to -see to. 

" The keys of my castle I leave with you ; 

But if you value my love, be true, 

And forbear to enter the Chamber of Blue f 

Farewell, Fatima ! Remember !" 
Fatima promised him; then she ran 
To visit the rooms with her sister Ann; 
But when she had finished the tour, she began 

To think about the Blue Chamber. 

Well, the woman was curiously inclined, 
So she left her sister and prudence behind, 
(With a little excuse) and started to find 

The mystery forbidden. 
She paused at the door ; — all was still as night I 
She opened it: then throng! i the dim, blue light 
There blistered her vision the horrible sight 

That was in that chamber hidden. 



BITTER-SWEET. 16i 

The room was gloomy and damp and wide, 

And the floor was red with the bloody tide 
From headless women, laid side by side, 

The wives of her lord and master ! 
JB'rightened and fainting, she dropped the key, 
But seized it and lifted it quickly ; then she 
Hurried as swiftly as she could flee 

From the scene of the disaster. 

She tried to forget the terrible dead, 

But shrieked when she saw that the key was red.^ 

And sickened and shook with an awful dread 

When she heard .Blue Beard was coming. 
He did not appear to notice her pain; 
But he took his keys, and seeing the stain. 
He stopped in the middle of the refrain 

That he had been quietly humming. 

♦* Mighty well, madam !" said he, ''^ mighty well 1 
What does this little blood-stain tell ? 



166 BITTER-SWEET. 

Fou've broken your promise ; prepare to dwell 
With the wives I've had before you ! 

You've broken your promise, and you shall die." 

Then Fatima, supposing her death was nigh, 

Fell on her knees and began to cry, 
" Have mercy, I implore you !" 

" No !" shouted Blue Beard, drawing his sword ; 
"You shall die this very minute," he roared. 
" Grant me time to prepare to meet my Lord,'* 

The terrified woman entreated. 
"Only ten minutes," he roared again; 
And holding his watch by its great gold chain, 
He marked on the dial the fatal ten. 

And retired till they were completed. 

" Sister, oh, sister, fly up to the tower I 
Look for release from this murderer's power I 
Our brothers should be here this very hour ; — 
Speak ! Does there come assistance !" 



BITTER-SWEET. 167 

"No: I see nothing but sheep on the hill." 
" Look again, sister !» « I'm looking still, 
But naught can I see, whether good or ill, 
Save a flurry of dust in the distance." 

" Time's up !" shouted Blue Beard, out from his room ; 
" This moment shall witness your terrible doom, 
And give you a dwelling within the room 

Whose secrets you have invaded." 
" Comes there no help for my terrible need ?" 
"There are horsemen twain riding hither with speed." 
" Oh ! tell them to ride very fast indeed, 

Or I must meet death unaided." 

" Time's fully up ! Now have done with your prayer," 
Shouted Blue Beard, swinging his sword on the stair ; 
Then he entered, and grasping her beautiful hair, 

Swung his glittering weapon around him; 
But a loud knock rang at the castle gate, 
And Fatima was saved from her horrible fate, 



168 BITTER-SWEET. 

For, shocked with surprise, he paused too late; 
And then the two soldiers found him. 

They were her brothers, and quick as they knew 
What the fiend was doing, their swords they drew, 
And attacked him fiercely, and ran hun through, 

So that soon he was mortally wounded. 
With a wild remorse was his conscience filled 
When he thought of the hapless wives he had killed; 
But quickly the last of his blood was spilled. 

And his dying groan was sounded. 

As soon as Fatima recovered fi-om fright. 
She embraced her brothers with great delight; 
And they were as glad and as grateful quite 

As she was glad and grateful. 
Then they all went out from that scene of pain. 
And sought in quietude to regain 
Their mi:ids, which had come to be quite insane, 

Tn 8 place so horrid and hateful. 



BITTER-SWEET. 189 

Twas a private funeral Blue Beard had; 

For the people knew he was very bad, 

And, though they said nothmg, they all were glad 

For the fall of the evil-doer ; 
But Fatima first ordered some graves to be made, 
And there the unfortunate ladies were laid, 
An«i after some painiul months, with the aid 

Of her friends, her spirits came to her. 

Then she cheered the hearts of the suffering poor, 
And an acre of land around each door, 
And a cow and a couple of sheep, or more, 

To her tenantry she granted. 
So all of them had enough to eat, 
And their love for her was so complete 
They would kiss the dust from her little feet, 

Or do anything she wanted. 

RJV3niEL. 

('apiial 1 Capital I "Wasn't it good ! 



170 BITTER-SWEET. 

I should like to have been her brother; 

If I had been one, you may guess there would 

Have been Httle work for the other. 

rd have run him right through the heart, just so. 

And cut off his head at a single blow, 

And killed him so quickly he'd never know 

What it was that struck him, wouldn't I, Joe? 

JOSEPH. 

You are very brave with your bragging tongue ; 
But if you had been there, you'd have sung 

A very different tune. 
Poor Blue Beard 1 He would have been afraid 
Of a little boy with a penknife blade, 

Or a tiny pewter spoon I 

SAMUEL, 

It makes no difference wnat you say 
(Pretty little boy, afraid to play I) 



BITTER-SWEET. X71 

But it served him rightly any way, 

And gave him just his due. 
And wasn't it good that his little wife 
Should live in his castle the rest of her life, 

And have all his money too ? 



EEBEKAH, 

I'm thinking of the ladies who 
Were lying in the Chamber Blue, 
With all their small necks cut in two. 

I see them lying, half a scoi-e, 
In a long row upon the floor, 
Their cold, white bosoms marked with gore. 

I know the sweet Fatima would 
Have put their heads on if she could; 
And made them live — she was so good ; 



172 BITTER-SWEET. 

And washed their faces at the sink; 
But Blue Beard was not sane, I think; 
I wonder if he did not drink! 

For no man in his proper mind 
Would be so cruelly inclined 
As to kill ladies who were kind. 

EUTH. 

[Stepping forward with Da\it> 
Story and comment alike are bad ; 
These little fellows are raving mad 

With thinking what they should do, 
Supposing their sunny-eyed sister had 
Given her heart — and her head — to a lad 
Like the man with the Beard of Blue. 
Each little jacket 
Is now a packet 
Of murderous thoughts and fancies; 
Oh, the gentle trade 
By which fiends are made 



BITTEK-SWEET. 173 

With the ready aid 

Of these bloody old romances ! 
And the Uttle girl takes the woman's turn, 
And thinks that the old curmudgeon 
Who owned a castle, and rolled in gold 
Over fields and gardens manifold, 
And kept in his house a family tomb. 
With his bowling course and his billiard-room, 
Where he could preserve his precious dead. 
Who took the kiss of the bridal bed 
From one who straightway took their head, 
And threw it away with the pair of gxoves 
In which he wedded his hapless loves. 

Had some excuse for his dudgeon. 

DAVID. 

We learn by contrast to admire 
The beauty that enchains us; 
And know the object of desire 
By that which pains us. 



174 BITTER-SWEET. 

The roses blushing at the door, 

The lapse of leafy June, 
The singing birds, the sunny shore, 
The summer moon ; — 

All these entrance the eye or ear 

By innate grace and charm ; 
But o'er them, reaching through the year 
Hangs Winter's arm, 

To give to memory the sign. 

The index of our bliss, 
And show by contrast how divine 
The Summer is. 

From chilling blasts and stormy skies, 

Bare hills and icy streams, 
Touched into fairest life arise 
Our summer dreams. 



BITTER-SWEET. 175 

And virtue never seems so fair 

As when we lift our gaze 
From the red eyes and bloody hair 
That vice displays. 

We are too low, — our eyes too dark 

Love's height to estimate, 
Save as we note the sunken mark 
Of brutal Hate. 

So this ensanguined tale shall move 

Aright each little dreamer. 
And Blue Beard teach them how to lov^ 
The sweet Fatima. 

They liate his crimes, and it is well; 

They pity those who died; 
Their sense of justice ^^hen he fell 
Was satisfied. 



176 BITTER-SWEET. 

No fierce revenges are the friLt 

Of their just indignation ; 
They sit in judgment on the brute. 

And condemnation ; 

And turn to her, his rescued wife, 

Her deeds so kind and human, 
And love the beauty of her life, 
And bless the woman. 

RUTH. 

That is the way I supposed you would twist it; 
And now that the boys are disposed of, 
And the moral so handsomely closed off, 
What do you say of the girl ? That she missed it, 
When she thought of old Blue Be'ard as &^*me do of 

Judas, 
Who with this notion essay to delude us: 
That when he relented, 
And fiercely repented, 



BITTER-SWEET. 177 

He was hardly so bad 
As he commonly had 
The fortmie to be represented ? 

DAVID. 

The noblest pity in the earth 

Is that bestowed on sin. 
The Great Salvation had its birth 
That ruth within. 

The girl is nearest God, in fact; 

The boy gives crime its due; 
She blames the author of the act, 
And pities too. 

Thus, from this strange excess of wrong, 

Her tender heart has caught 

The noblest truth, the sweetest song, 

The Saviour taught. 
8* 



178 BITTER-SWEET. 

So, more than measured homily, 

Of sage, or priest, or preacher, 
Is this wild tale of cruelty 

Love's gentle teacher. 

It tells of sin, its deep remorse, 

Its fitting recompense. 
And vindicates the tardy course 
Of Providence. 

These boyish bosoms are on fire 

With chivalric possessiou, 
And burn with just and manly ire 
Against oppression. 

The glory and the gi*ace of life, 

And Love's surpassing sweetness, 

Rise from the monster to the wife 

In high completeness; 



BITTER-SWEET. 179 

And thence look down with mercy's eye 

On sin's accurst abuser, 
And seek to 'wrest from charity 
Some fair excuses. 

EITTH. 

These greedy mouths are watering 
For the fruit within the basket; 
And, although they will not ask it, 
Their jack-knives all are burning 
And their eager hands are yearning 

For the peeling and the quartering. 
So let us have done with our talk ; 
For they are too tired to say their prayers, 
And the time is come they should walk 
From the story below to the story up stairs 



THTED MOVEMENT 



DRAMATIC!. 



THE THIRD MOVEMENT 



LOCALITY— T^e Kitchen. 
PKESENT— David, Ruth, John, Pktbb, PBTTDraroa, <md PATTBNoa 



THE QUESTION ILLUSTRATED BY THE DENOUEMENT 
JOHN. 

Since the old gentleman retired to bed, 

Things have gone strangely. David, here, and Rmh, 

Have wasted thirty minutes underground 

In explorations. One would think the house 

Covered the entrance of the Mammoth Cave, 

And they had lost themselves. Mary and Grace 



184 BITTER-SWEET. 

Still hold their chamber and their conference, 

And pour into each other's greedy ears 

Their stream of talk, whose low, monotonous hum, 

Would lull to slumber any storm but this. 

The children are play-tired and gone to bed; 

And one may know by looking round the room 

Their place of sport was here. And we, plain folk. 

Who have no gift of speech, especially 

On themes which we and none may understand, 

Have yawned and nodded in the great square room, 

And wondered if the parted family 

Would ever meet again. 

EtITH« 

John, do you see 
The apples and the cider on the hearth? 
If I remember rightly, you discuss 
Such themes as these with noticeable zest 
And pleasant tokens of intelligence; 



BITTER-SWEET. i85 



Rather preferring scanty company 

To the full circle. So, sir, take the lead, 

And help yourself. 



JOHN. 

Aye! That I will, and give 
Your welcome invitation cun-ency, 
In. the old-fashioned way. Come! Help yourselves I 

DAVID. 

\ Looking out from the windoto. 

The ground is thick with sleet, and still it falls ! 
The atmosphere is plunging like the sea 
Against the woods, and pouring on the night 
The roar of breakers, while the blinding spray 
O'erleaps the barrier, and comes drifting on 
In lines as level as the window-bars. 
What curious visions, in a night like this, 
Will the eye conjure from the rocks and trees, 
And y/igzag fences! I was almost sure 



186 BITTER SWEET. 

I saw a man staggering along the road 

A moment since; but instantly the shape 

Dropped from my sight. Hark! Was not that a call- 

A human voice ? There's a conspiracy 

Between my eyes and ears to play me tricks, 

Else wanders there abroad some hapless soul 

Who needs assistance. There he stands again, 

And with unsteady essay strives to breast 

The tempest. Hush ! Did you not hear that cry ? 

Quick, brothers! We must out, and give our aid. 

None but a dying and despairing man 

Ever gave utterance to a cry like that. 

Nay, wait for nothing. Follow me I 



BUTH. 

Alas I 
Wlio can he be, who on a night like this, 
And on tnis night, of all nights in the year, 
Holds to the highway, ^omeless? 



BITTER-SWEET. 187 



PRUDENCE. 



Probably- 
Some neighbor started from his home in quest 
Of a physician ; or, more likely still, 
Some poor inebriate, sadly overcome 
By his sad keeping of the hoUday. 
I hope they'll give him quarters in the barn; 
If he sleep here, there'll be no sleep for me. 

PATIENCE. 

I'll not believe it was a man at all ; 
David and Ruth are always seeing things 
That no one else sees. 

RUTH. 

I see plainly now 
What we shall all see plainly, soon enough. 
The man is dead, and they are bearing liim 
As if he were a log. Quick ! Stir the fire, 



188 BIITER -SWEET. 

And clear the settle! We must lay him there. 

I ^ill bring cordials, and flannel stuffs 

With which to chafe him ; open wide the door. 

[T?u men enter, bearing a body appa/renUy lifelesSj which they lay 
upon the settle. 

DAVID. 

Now do my bidding, orderly and swift; 

And we may save from death a fellow man. 

Peter, relieve him of those frozen shoes, 

And wrap his feet in flannel. This way, Ruth! 

Administer that cordial yourself. 

John, you are strong, and. that rough hand of yours 

Will chafe him well. Work with a will, I sayl 
******* 

My hand is on his heart, and I can feel 

Both warmth and motion. If we persevere, 

He will be saved. Work with a will, I sayl 

******* 
A groan? Ha! That is good. Another groEm? 
Better and better! 



BITTER-SWEET. 189 



EUTH. 



It is down at last! — 
A spoonful of the cordial. His breath 
Comes feebly, but is warm upon my hand. 

DAVID. 

Give him brisk treatment, and persistent, too; 
And we shall be rewarded presently, 
For there is life in him. 

:ic H: « « « « « 

He moves his lips 

And tries to speak. 

* * « * * * * 

And now he opes his eyes. 
What eyes! How wandering and wild they are! 

[To the stranger 
We are your friends. We found you overcome 
By the cold storm without, and brought you in. 
We are your friends, I say; so be at ease, 



1^ BITTER-SWEET. 

And let us do according to your need. 
What is your wish? 

STEANGEE. 

My fi-iends ? O God in Heaven ! 
They've cheated me! I'm in the hospital. 
Oh, it was cruel to deceive me thus! 
No, you are not my friends. What bitter pain 
Racks my poor body! 

DAVID. 

Poor man, how he raves! 
Let us be silent while the warmth and wine 
Provoke his sluggish blood to steady flow, 
And each dead sense comes back to life agam. 
O'er the same path of torture which it trod 
When it went out from him. He'll slumber soon, 
And, when he wakens, we may talk with him. 



BITTER-SWEET. 191 

PRUDENCE 

[Soito voce, 
"Shall I not call the family? I think 
Mary and Grace must both be very cold ; 
And they know nothing of this strange . affair. 
I'll wait them at the landing, and secure 
Their silent entrance. 

• DAVID, 

If it please you — well. 
[Prudence retires, and returns with Grace and Mary 

MART. 

Why I We heard nothing of it — Grace and I : — 
What a cadaverous hand ! How blue and thin I 

DAVID. 

At his first wild awaking he bemoaned 
His fancied durance in a hospital ; 



192 BITTER-SWEET. 

And since he spoke so strangely, I have thought 
He may have fled a mad-house. Matters not I 
We've done our duty, and preserved his life. 

MARY. 

Shall I disturb him if I look at him ? 
I'm strangely curious to see his face. 

DAVID. 

Go. Move you carefully, and bring us word 
Whether he sleeps. 

[Mary rises, goes to the settle, and sinks back fainting. 

Why ! What ails the girl ? 
I thought her nerves were iron. Dash her brow 
And bathe her temples I 

MAEY. 

There — there, — that will da. 
»Ti8 over now. 



BITTER-SWEET. 193 

DAVID. 

The man is speaking. Hush I 

STRANGER. 

Oh, what a heavenly dream ! But it is past, 
Like all my heavenly dreams, for never more 
Shall dream entrance me. Death has never dreams, 
But everlasting wakefulness. The eye 
Of the quick spirit that has dropped the flesh 

May close no more in slumber. 

m ***** * 

I must die ! 
This painless spell which binds my weary limbs — 
This peace ineffable of soul and sense — 
Is dissolution's herald, and gives note 
That life is conquered and the struggle o'er. 
But I had hoped to see her ere I died ; 
To kneel for pardon, and implore one kiss, 
Pledge to my soul that in the coming heaven 

We should not meet as strangers, but rejoin 

9 



194 BITTER-SWEET. 

Our hearts and lives so madly sundered here, 

Through fault and freak of mine. But it is well 

God's will be done ! 

* ****** 

I dreamed that I had reached 

The old red farm-house, — that I saw the light 

Flaming as brightly as in other times 

It flushed the kitchen windows ; and that forms 

Were sliding to and fro in joyous life, 

Restless to give me welcome. Then I dreamed 

Of the dear woman w^ho went out with me 

One sweet spring morning, in her own sweet spring, 

To wretchedness and ruin. Oh, forgive — 

Dear, pitying Christ, forgive this cruel wrong. 

And let me die ! Oh, let me — let me die ! 

Mary ! my Mary ! Could you only know 

How I have sufiered since I fled from you, — 

How I have sorrowed through long months of pain, 

A.nd prayed for pardon, — you would pardon me. 



BITTER-SWEET. 195 



DAVID, 

[Sotto voce. 



Mary, what means this ? Does he dream alone, 
Or are we dreaming ? 

MAEY. 

Edward, I am here ! 
I am your Mary ! Know you not my face ? 
My husband, speak to me ! Oh, speak once more I 
This is no dream, but kind reality. 

EDWARD. 

[^Raising himself, and looJcing wildly armnd. 

You, Mary ? Is this heaven, and am I dead ? 
I did not know you died : when did you die ? 
And John and Peter, Grace and little Ruth 
Grown to a woman ; are they all with you ? 
»Tis very strange ! O pity me, my friends ! 
For God has pitied me, and pardoned, too : 



196 BITTER-SWEET. 

Else I should not be here. Nay, you seem cold. 

And look on me with sad severity. 

Have you no pardoning word — no smile for me ? 

MART. 

This is not Heaven's but Earth's reality; 

This is the farm-house — these your wife and friends. 

I hold your hand, and I forgive you all. 

Pray you recline ! You are not strong enough 

To bear this yet. 

EDWARD. 

[Sinking back. 

O toiling heart ! O sick and sinking heait I 

Give me one hour of service, ere I die I 

This is no dream. This han& is precious flesh, 

And I am here where I have prayed to be. 

My Gud, I thank thee ! Thou hast heard my prayer, 

And, in its answer, given me a pledge 

Of the acceptance of my penitence. 



BITTER-SWEET. 19' 

How have I yearned for this one priceless hour! 
Cling to me, dearest, while my feet go down 
Into the silent stream; nor loose your hold, 
Till angels grasp me on the other side. 

MARY. 

Edward, you are not dying — must not die; 
For only now are we prepared to live. 
You must have quiet, and a night of rest. 
Be silent, if you love me ! 

EDWARD. 

If I love? 
Ah, Mary! never till this blessed hour, 
When power and passion, lust and pride are gone, 
Have I perceived what wedded love may be; — 
Jnutterable fondness, soul for soul; 
Profoundest tenderness between two hearts 
Allied by nature, interlocked by life. 



198 BITTER-SWEET. 

I know that I shall die; but the low clouds- 
Tl\at closed my mental vision have retired, 
And left a sky as clear and calm as Heaven. 
1 must talk now, or never more on earth; 
So do not hinder me. 

MARY. 

Have you a wish 
That I can gratify? Have you any words 
To send to other friends? 

^ EDWARD. 

I have no friends 
But you and these, and only wish to leave 
My worthless name and memory redeemed 
Within your hearts to pitying respect. 
I have no strength, and it becomes me not, 
To tell the story of my life of sin. 
I was a drunkard, thief, adulterer; 



[Weeping 



BITTER-SWEET. 199 

And fled f-om shame, with shame, to find remorse. 

I had but few months of debauchery, 

Pursued with mad intent to damp or drown 

The flames of a consuming conscience, when 

My body, poisoned, crippled with disease, 

Refused the guilty service of my soul, 

And at mid-day fell pi-one upon the street. 

Thence I was carried to a hospital, 

And there I woke to that delirium 

Which none but di'unkards this side of the pit 

May even dream of. 

But at last there came, 
With abstinence and kindly medicines. 
Release from pain and peaceful sanity; 
And then Christ found me, ready for His hand. 
I was not ready for Him wlien He came 
And asked me for my youth; and when He knocked 
At my heart's door in manhood's early prime 
With tenderest monitions, I debarred 



200 BITTER-SWEET. 

His waiting feet with promise and excufle; % 
And when, in after years, absorbed in sm, 
The gentle summons swelled to thuuderings 
That echoed through the chambers of my soul 
With threats of vengeance, I shut up my ears ; 
And then He went away, and let me rush 
.Athout arrest, or protest, toward the pit. 
I made swift passage downward, till, at length, 
I had become a miserable wreck — 
Pleasure behind me; only pain before; 
My life Bved out ; the fires of passion dead ; 
Without a friend ; no pride, no power, no hope ; 
No motive in me e'en to wish for life. 
Then, as I said, Christ came, with stern and sad 
Reminders of His mercy and my gmlt, 
And the door fell before Him. 

I went out, 
And trod the wildernesses of remorse 
For many days. Then from their outer verge, 



BITTER-SWEET. 201 

rortured and blinded, I plunged madly down 

Into the sullen bosom of despair; 

But strength from Heaven was given me, and pre 

served 
Breath in my bosom, till a lignt stream ^d up 
Upon the other shore, and I struck out 
On the cold waters, struggling for my life. 
Fainting I reached the beach, and on my knees 
Climbed, up the thorny hill of penitence, 
Till I could pee, upon its distant brow, 
The Saviour beck'ning. Then I ran — I flew — 
And grasped his outstretched hand. It lifted me 
High on the evcHasting rock, and then 
It folded me, with all my griefs and tears. 
My si^^ :,ivk body and my guilt-stained soul, 
To the great leart that throbs for all the world, 

MABY. 



Dear Lord, I bless theel Thou hast heard my prayer, 

9* 



202 BITTER-SWEET. 

And saved the wanderer! Hear it once again. 
And lengthen out the life thou hast redeemed! 

EDWARD. 

Mary, my wife, forbear! I may not give 

Response to such petition. I have prayed 

That I may die. When first the love Divine 

Received me on its bosom, and in mine 

I felt the springing of another life, 

I begged the Lord to grant me two requests 

The fii'st that I might die, and in that world 

Where passion sleeps, and only influence 

From Him and those who cluster at His throne 

Breathes on the soul, the germ of His great life, 

Bursting within me, might be perfected. 

The second, that your life, my love, and mine 

Might be once more united on the earth 

In holy marriage, and that mine might be 

Breathed out at last within your loving aims. 



BITTER-SWEET. 

One prayer is granted, and the other waits 
But a brief space for its accomplishment. 

MARY. 

But why this prayer to die ? Still loving me,— 
With the great motive for desiring life 
And the deep secret of enjoyment won, — 
Why pray for death? 

EDWARD. 

Do you not know me, Mary? 
I am afraid to live, for I am weak. 
I've found a treasure only life can steal ; 
I've won a jewel only death mil keep. 
In such a heart as mine, the priceless pearl 
Would not be safe. That which I would not take 
When health was with me, — which I spurned away 
So long as I had i)ower to sin, I fear 
Would be surrendered with that power's return 
And the temptation to its exercise. 
For soul like mine, diseased in every part, 



204 BITTER-SWEET. 

There is but one condition in which grace 
May give it service, -tor my malady 
The Great Physician draws the blood away 
That only flows to feed its baleful fires; 
For only thus the balsam and the balm 
May touch the springs of healing. 

So I pray 
To be delivered from myself, — to be 
Delivered from necessity of ill, — 
To be secured from bringing harm to you. 
Oh, what a boon is death to the sick soul! 
I greet it with ^ joy that passes speech. 
Were the whole world to come before me now,— 
Wealth with its treasures; Pleasure with its cup; 
Power robed in purple; Beauty in its pride, 
And with Love's sweetest blossoms garlanded ; 
Fame with its bpys, and Glory with its crown, — 
To tempt me lifeward, I would turn away, 
And stretch my hands with utter eagerness 



BITTER-SWEET. 206 

Toward tlie pale angel waiting for me now, 
And give my hand to liim, to be led out, 
Serenely singing, to tae land of shade. 

MAKY. 

Edward, 1 yield you. I would not retain 
One who nas strayed so long from God and heaven^ 
When his weak feet have found the only path 
Open for such as he. 

EDWAED. 

My strength recedes j 
But ere it fail, tell me how fares your life. 
You have seen sorrow ; but it comforts me 
To hear the language of a chastened sou! 
From one perverted by my guilty hand. 
You speali the dialect of the redeemed-— 
The Heaven-accepted. Tell me it is so. 
And you are happy. 



206 BITTER-SWEET. 

MART. 

With sweet hoj^e and trust 
I may reply, 'tis as you think and wish. 
I have seen sorrow, surely, and the more 
That I have seen ^ hat was far worse ; but God 
Sent his own servant to me to restore 
My sadly straying feet to the sure path; 
And in my soul I have the pledge of grace 
WTiich shall suffice to keep them there. 

EDWAED. 

Ah, joy ! 
You found a friend ; and my o'erflowing heart. 
Welling with gratitude, pours out to him 
For his kind ministry its fitting meed. 
Oh, breathe his name to me, that my poor lips 
May bind it to a benison, and that. 
While dying, I may whisper it with those — 
Jesus and Maiy — which I love the best. 
Name him, I pray you. 



BITTER-SWEET. 201 

MART. 

You would ask of me 
To bear your thanks to him, and to rehearse 
Your dymg words? 

GBACB. 

He asks your good friend's name 
You do not understand him. 

MARY. 

It is hard 
To give denial to a dying wish ; 
But, Edward, I've no right to speak his name. 
He was a Christian man, and you may give 
Of the full largess of your gratitude 
All, without robbing God, you have to give, 
And fail, e'en then, of worthy recompense. 

EDWARD. 

Tour will is mine. 



208 BITTER-SWEET. 

GRACE. 

Nay, Mary, tell it him I 
Where is he going he should bruit the name ? 
Rememb;jr where he lies, and that no ears 
Save those of angels 

MAKY. 

There are others hero 
Who may not hear it. 

KUTH. 

We will all retire. 
It 18 not proper we should Unger here. 
Barring the sacred confidence of hearts 
Parting so sadly. 

DAVID. 

Mary, you must yield. 
Nor keep the secret longer from your friends 

MARY, 

David, you know not what you say. 



BITTER-SWEET. 209 



DAVID. 



I know ; 
So give the dyiag man no more delay, 

MARY 

I will declare it under your command. 
This stranger fi-iend — stranger for many months — 
This man, selectest mstrument of Heaven, 
Who gave me succor in my hour of need, 
Snatched me from ruin, rescued me from want. 
Counselled and cheered me, prayed with me, and thee 
Led me with careful hand into the light, 
Was he now bending over you in tears- 
David, my brother 1 

EDWARD. 

Blessed be his namei 
Brother by every law, above — below ! 



210 BITTER-SWEET. 

GRACE. 

[Pale and trembling 

David ? My husband ? Did I hear aright ? 

You are not jesting ! Sure you would not jest 

At such a juncture ! Speak, my husband, speak ! 

Is this a plot to cheat a dying man, 

Or cheat a wife who, if it be no plot. 

Is worthy death? What can you mean by this? 

MARY. 

Not more nor less than my true words convey 

GBACB. 

I 

Nay, David, tell me! 

DAVID. 

Mary's words are truth. 

GRACE. 

O mean and jealous heart, what hast thou done I 
WTiat wrong to honor, ^ite to Christian love, 



BITTER-SWEET. 211 

And shame to*" self beyond self-pardoning I 
flow can I ever lift my faithless eyes 
To those true eyes that I have counted false; 
Or meet those lips that I have charged with lies; 
Or win the dear embraces I have spurned ? 

most unhappy, most unworthy wife ! 

No one but he who still has clung to thee, — 
Proud, and imperious, and impenitent,— 
No one but he who has in silence borne 
Thy peevish criminations and complaints 
Can now forgive thee, when in deepest shame 
Thou bowest with confession of thy faults. 
Dear husband ! David ! Look upon your wife I 
Behold one kneeling never knelt to you ! 

1 have abused you and your faithful love, 
And, in my great humiliation, pray 

You will not trample me beneath your feet, 
'^ity my weakness, and remember, too. 
That Love was jealous of thee, and not Hate- 
That it was Love's own pride tormented me. 



212 ^ BITTER-SWEET, 

My husband take me once more to your armfl, 

And Idss me in forgiveness ; say that you 

Will be my counsellor, my friend, my loVe ; 

And I will give myself to you again, 

To be all yours — my reason, confidence, 

My &ith and trust all yours, my heart's best love^ 

My service and my prayers, all yours — all yours! 

DAVID. 

Rise, dearest, nse ! It gives me only pain 

That such as you should kneel to such as I. 

Your words inform me that you know how weak 

I am whom you have only fancied weak. 

Forgive you ? I forgive you everything ; 

And take the pardon which your prayer insures. 

Let this embrace, this kiss, be evidence 

Our jarring hearts catch common rhythm again, 

And we are lovera. 



BITTER-SWEET. 218 

RUTH. 

Hush I You trouble him. 
tie understands this scene no more than we. 
Mary, he speaks to you. 

EDWARD. 

Dear wife, farewell ! 
The room grows dim, and silently and soft 
The veil is dropping 'twixt my eyes and yours, 
Which soon will hide me from you — you from me. 
Only one hand is warm ; it rests in yours, 
Whose full, sweet pulses throb along my arm, 
So that I live upon them. Cling to me ! 
And thus your life, after my life is past, 
Shall lay me gently in the arms of Death. 
Thus shall you link your being with a soul 
Gazing unveiled upon the Great White Throne. 

Dear hearts of love surrounding me, farewell] 

I cannot see you now ; or, if I do, 

10 



214 BITTER-SWEET. 

You are transfigured. There are floating forms 

That whisper over me like summer leaves ; 

And now there comes, and spreads through all my soul 

Delicious influx of another life, 

From out whose essence spring, like living flowers, 

Angelic senses with quick ultimates, 

That catch the rustle of etherial robes. 

And the thin chime of melting minstrelsy — 

Rising and falling — answered far away — 

As Echo, dreaming in the twilight woodfl, 

Repeats the warble of her twilight birds. 

And flowers that mock the Iris toss their cups 

In the impulsive ether, and. spill out 

Sweet tides of perfume, fragrant deluges. 

Flooding niy spirit like an angel's breath. 

« « « :!: « * m 

And still the throng increases ; stiU unfold 
With broader span and more elusive sweep 
The radiant vistas of a world divine. 
But O my soul ! what vision rises now I 



BITTER-SWEET. 2U 

Far, far away, white blazing like the sun, 

In deepest distance and on highest height, 

Through walls diaphanous, and atmosphere 

Flecked with unnumbered forms of missive power, 

Out-going fleetly and returning slow, 

A presence shines I may not penetrate ; 

But on a throne, with smile ineffable, 

I see a form my conscious spirit knows. 

Jesus, my Saviour! Jesus, Lamb of God! 

Jesus who taketh from me all my sins. 

And from the world! Jesus, I come to thee! 

Come thou to me ! O come, Lord, quickly! Cornel 

DAVID. 

Flown on the wings of rapture! Is this death? 
His heart is still; his beaded brow is cold; 
His wasted breast strui^^gles for breath no more; 
And his pale features, hardened with the stiM 
Of Life's resistance, momently subside 
Into a smile, calm as a twilight lake, 



216 BITTER-SWEET. 

Sprent with the images of rising stars. 

We have seen Evil in his countless forms 

In these poor lives ; have met his armed hosts 

In dread encounter and discomfiture; 

And languished in captivity to them, 

Until we lost our courage and our faith ; 

And here we see their Chieftain — Terror's King I 

He cuts the knot that binds a weary soul 

To faithless passions, sateless appetites, 

And powers perverted, and it flies away 

Singing toward Heaven. He turns and looks at us, 

And finds us weeping with our gratitude — 

Full of sweet sorrow, — sorrow sweeter far 

Than the supremest ecstasy of joy. 

And this is death 1 Think you that raptured soul 
Now walking humbly in the golden streets, 
Bearing the precious burden of a love 
Too great for utterance, or with hushed heart 
Drinking the music of the ransomed throng, 



BITTER-SWEET. 2i7 

Counts death an evil? — evil, sickness, pain, 

Calamity, or aught that God prescribed 

To cure it of its sin, or bring it where 

The healing hand of Christ might touch it ? No I 

He is a man to-night — a man in Jhrist. 

This was his childhood, here ; and as we give 

A smile of wonder to the little woes 

That drew the tears from out our own young eyes- 

The kind corrections and severe constraints 

Imposed by those who loved us — so ne sees 

A father's chastisement in all the ill 

That filled his life with darkness; so he sees 

In every evil a kind instrument 

To chasten, elevate, correct, subdue, 

And fit him for that heavenly estate — 

Samtship in Christ — the Manhood Absolute' 



L'EKYOY 



Midnight and silence I In the West, unveiled, 
The broad, full moon is shming, mth the stars. 
On mount and valley, forest, roof, and rock, 
On billowy hills smooth-stretching to the sky, 
On rail and wall, on all things far and near, 
Cling the bright crystals, — all the earth a floor 
Of polished sUver, pranked with bending forms 
Uplifting to the light their precious weight 
Of pearls and diamonds, set in palest gold. 
The storm is dead ; and when it rolled away 
It cook no star from heaven, but left to earth 
Such legacy of beauty as The "Wind — 
The light-robed shepherdess from Cuban groves — 
Driving soft showers before her, and warm aii*s, 
Ajid her wide-scatt >->'I flocks of wet- winged hirdfi.. 



BITTER. SWKKT. 219 

N'ever bestowed upon the waiting Spring. 

Pale, silent, smiling, cold, and beautifiiU 

Do storms die thus ? And is it this to die ? 

Midnight and silence I In that haUowed room 
God's full-orbed peace is shining, ^vith the stars. 
On head and hand, on brow, and lip, and eye, 
On folded arms, on broad un moving breast, 
On the white-sanded floor, on eveiything, 
Ilests the pale radiance, while bending forms 
Stand all around., loaded mth precious weight 
Of jewels such as holy angels wear. 
The man is dead; and when he passed away 
He blotted out no good, but left behind 
Such wealth of faith, such store of love and trust, 
As breath of joy, in-floating fi-om the isles 
Smiled on by ceaseless summer, and indued 
With foliage and flowers perennial, 
N'ever conveyed to the enchanted soul. 
Do men die thus? And is it this to die? 



220 BITTER-SWEET. 

Midnight and silence ! At each waiting bed, 
Husband and wife, embracing, kneel in prayer; 
And lips unused to such a benison 
Breathe blessings upon evil, and give thanks 
For knowledge of its sacred ministry. 
An infant nestles on a mother's bieast, 
"Whose head is piUowed where it has not lain 
For months of wasted life — the tale all told, 
And confidence and love for-aye secure 

The widow and the virgin: where are they? 

The mom shall find them watching with the dead, 

Like the two angels at the tomb of Christ, — 

One at the head, the other at the foot, — 

Guarding a sepulchre whose occupant 

Has risen, and rolled the heavy stone away! 

THE END. 




016 112784A 



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